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FOUNDATION STUDIES IN 
LITERATURE 



BY 



/ 



MARGARET S. MOONEY 

Teacher of Literature and Rhetoric, State Normal College, 
Albany, N.Y. 



^^ Love thou thy land with love far-brought 

From out the storied Past, and used 

Within the Present, but transfused 

Thro' future time by power of thought.^'' 

Tennyson 





iJ^^^aJ 



SILVER, BURDETT & COMPANY 

New York BOSTON Chicago 



1895 



f^ 



th^ 



Copyright, 1895, 
By silver, BURDETT & COMPANY. 



Nortoooti ^!3rrs3 : 
S. Gushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith. 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 



SEo tfje .Stutients 

WHO HAVE FORMED MY CLASSES IN LITERATURE 

FOR THE PAST SEVEN YEARS 

THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 



PREFACE. 



A NEW text-book in literature should have some 
reason to be in these days of making many books. 
The best possible reason that can be given for the 
preparation of a work of this kind, is that it furnishes 
to both teachers and students a method of study that 
necessarily leads to certain definite and much valued 
results, among which are the following : A better 
appreciation of artistic merit in poetry ; a knowledge 
of the relation of the mythology of Greece and Rome 
to the poetry of every European nation and language 
of modern times ; the power to use this " golden key " 
by means of which the treasuries of ancient learning 
and wisdom are unlocked. 

This volume has been prepared for students who 
are old enough to understand that Literature, in the 
highest sense, is one of the Fine Arts, and that the 
reader can gain from the study of the great poets 
the same kind of culture that is obtained by close 
study of the masterpieces of painting and sculpture. 

In the arrangement of the groups of poems for these 
studies, the idea of comparison is at once suggested 



vi PREFACE, 

to the reader and a further comparison with the illus- 
trations, which are all copies of celebrated works of 
art, will bring out the relative merits of these different 
modes of expressing thought. 

Frequent reference is made to the original source of 
the author's thought, and in this way these studies pre- 
pare the student for reading Homer, the Greek drama- 
tists, Virgil, Dante, Chaucer, Shakspeare, and Milton, 
with the pleasure and profit dependent upon easy 
apprehension of the thought of the author. 

They also prepare him to understand the close rela- 
tion that the works of these great writers of different 
eras, nations, and languages bear to one another. 

The comparative method in literature holds to the 
idea that if several authors at widely different periods 
and in different languages have chosen the same or 
kindred subjects and have so treated them as to gain 
for these works a permanent place in literature, there 
must be some inherent beauty or spiritual truth in the 
subject itself which every reader may find by compari- 
son of such works. 

Comparison is a sort of ''search light" that reveals 
new beauties both of thought and of expression, and it 
is unquestionably the best means that can be employed 
for gaining analytical power and critical acumen. 

The mythological stories upon which the poems are 
based have been compiled from various works on 
mythology ; among them the author takes pleasure 
in mentioning Bulfinch's ''The Age of Fable" and 
Edwards' "Hand-book of Mythology." 



PREFACE. vii 

The author desires to acknowledge her special obli- 
gations to Messrs. Harper and Brothers for permission 
to use two selections of which they control the copy- 
right, and to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin and Co. for 
permission to use selections from the works of James 
Russell Lowell, H. W. Longfellow, Oliver Wendell 
Holmes, Edmund C. Stedman, John G. Saxe, Mrs. 
Frances L. Mace, Miss M. L. Backus, and W. W. 
Young. 

She also wishes to thank Miss Mary E. Burt, author 
of " Literary Landmarks for Young People," for the 
many valuable hints on the comparative method of 
teaching literature, contained in her inestimable little 
guide-book. 

M. S. M. 

State Normal College, Albany, N.Y., 
March, 1895. 



CONTENTS. 



GROUP I. 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 



Nyx, Nox, or Night . . 

Night ....... 

Hymn to the Night . . 

To Night 

Aurora, or Eos, the Goddess of 

the Dawn The Myth 

Quotations from the Iliad . 

Tithonus 

The Troades (selection) . . 

Apollo, Phoebus Apollo, or He 
lios, the Sun-god . . . 

A Legend of Ancient Greece 

The Manciple's Tale . . . 

Phaethon . 

Diana, or Selene, the Moon- 
goddess The Myth 

Endymion Longfellow 

A Song from Cynthia's Revels . Ben Jonson 

On Latmos Backus 

From the Cloud 

Ceres, or Demeter ..... 

A Hymn to Ceres 

Persephone 

Demeter and Persephone (In 
Enna) 



The Myth .... 
Young's Night Thoughts 
Longfellow . . . - . 
Shelley 



PAGE 

II 
II 

12 

• n 
. 14 

Pope's Trans 16 

Tennyson 17 

Euripides 19 



The Myth 
Barr . . 
Chaucer . 
y. G. Saxe 



Shelley . . . 
The Myth . 
Homer . . . 
yean Lngelow 



Tennyson 



20 
23 
25 
29 

33 
33 
35 
38 
41 
43 
45 
46 

50 



X CONTENTS. 

GROUP II. 
SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 

PAGE 

1. Saturn, or Chronos .... The Myth 55 

From Hyperion Keats 56 

2. The Battle between the Gods 

and the Giants The Myth 58 

From King Robert of Sicily . Longfellow 59 

Enceladus Longfellow 59 

3. Prometheus The Myth 61 

From Prometheus Bound . . ^schylus (^Plumptre^s) ... 62 

From Prometheus Bound . . Mrs. Browning 66 

Prometheus Lowell 70 

Prometheus Goethe 81 

Prometheus Byron 83 

From Prometheus Unbound . Shelley ........ 84 

4. Pandora The Myth 87 

The Creation of Pandora . . Llesiod 88 

5. Icarus 7' G. Saxe ...... 91 

GROUP III. 
EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 

1. The Apple of Discord . . . The Myth 94 

CEnone Tennyson 95 

There came Three Queens from 

Heaven Young 103 

2. Iphigenia 105 

Iphigenia in Aulis Euripides 107 

Iphigenia and Agamemnon . . Landor 112 

Iphigenia in Tauris .... Goethe 114 

3. Protesilaus The Myth 127 

Protesilaus (Iliad, Book II.) . Hojuer • . 127 

Laodameia Wordsworth 128 

4. Orpheus 134 

5. Song Shakespeare 135 

6. Orpheus and Eurydice . . . J. G. Saxe 136 

7. A Musical Instrument . . . Mrs. Browning 138 

8. The Finding of the Lyre . . Lowell 140 

6. The Origin of the Harp . . . Moore . 141 



CONTENTS. xi 

GROUP IV. 

THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 

PAGE 

1. On First Looking into Chap- 

man's Homer Keats ........ 143 

2. The Night Encampment of the 

Trojans (from the Ihad, Book 
VHL; translations by Pope, 
Cowper, Bryant, and Tenny- 
son, selected for comparison) 145 

3. Philoctetes (Iliad, Book IL) . Sophocles [Fhw/pfre's Traits.) . 150 

4. The Lotos-Eaters (Odyssey, 

Book IX.) Bryant - 165 

5. The Lotos-Eaters Teuiiysoji 166 

6. Ulysses Teimyson 172 

GROUP V. 

THE MYTH OF CUPID. 

1. Cupid and Psyche. Paraphrases 

on Apuleius Airs. Browning 175 

2. Cupid Stung Anacreon {Bateson's Traj?s ") . i83 

Cupid Stung Arnold ........ 183 

Cupid and the Bee .... Moore 184 

3. Discourse with Cupid .... Ben Jonson 1S5 

4. Cupid and Campaspe .... Lily • . . 186 

5. The Cheat of Cupid .... Anacreoii {Herrick's Trans.) . 187 

Cupid Benighted Anacreon {Moore^s Trans.) . 188 

Cupid Swallowed Hunt . 190 

6. Sir Cupid Wetherly 190 

Cupid's Decadence .... Stock 191 

7. The Cyclops Mrs. Browning 192 

8. The Dryads Hunt 196 

Quotations from Rhcecus . . Lowell 197 



xil CONTENTS. 

GROUP VI. 
THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND MYTHOLOGY. 

PAGE 

1. How Bacchus finds Ariadne 

Sleeping Nonnus (Mrs. Browning' s Par- 
aphrase) 199 

2. How Bacchus comforts Ariadne . Nonnus 202 

Hesiod (Mrs. Browning's Tr.y 204 

Tennyson 206 

Mace 216 

Anonymous 220 

Stedman ....... 223 

Benedict 225 

Holmes 226 



3. Bacchus and Ariadne , . 

4. A Dream of Fair Women 

5. The Seven Days . . . 

6. Balder 

6. News from Olympia . . 

7. The Origin of the Sonnet 

8. The First Fan ... . 



GROUP VII. 
PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 

1. A Christmas Hymn .... Dom^Jiett . 229 

2. The Gods of Greece .... Schiller » 231 

3. The Dead Pan Mrs. Browning 236 

4. Messiah Pope . . . • 245 

5. On the Morning of Christ's 

Nativity ....... Milton 248 

6. Easter Morning ..... Mace - - 257 

GROUP VIII. 
KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 

1. Sir Galahad Tennyson 261 

2. The Holy Grail Tennyson 263 

3. Morte d' Arthur Tennyso7i . 279 

4. A Sonnet ........ Aubrey de Vere ..... 288 



INDEX OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



1. Aurora, Frontispiece 

Guido Reni, Italian painter, 1575-1642. Ceiling fresco, Ros- 
pigliosi palace, Rome, 

OPPOSITE PAGE 

2. Night, . . . 12 

Bertel Thorwaldsen, Danish sculptor, 1770-1844. 

3. Morning, . . . . . „ . . i6 

Thorwaldsen (as above). 

4. Diana with the Stag, 34 

Jean Antoine Houdon, French sculptor, 1741-1828. Museum 
of the Louvre. 

5. Jupiter, 74 

Sculptor unknown ; brought from Otricoli, Umbria, to the 
Museum of the Vatican. 

6. Prometheus and Minerva, . . . . .82 

Thorwaldsen (as above) . 

7. Iphigenia, .114 

E. Hiibner, German painter, 1842-. 

8. Orpheus and Eurydice, . . . . •134 

Robert Beyschlag, German painter, 1838-. 

9. Hermes (Mercury), 140 

Praxiteles, Greek sculptor, fourth century B.C. 

10. A Reading from Homer, 142 

Laurence Alma-Tadema, Belgian painter, 1836-. 

11. Cupid and Psyche, 174 

Edward Burne- Jones, English painter, 1833-. 
xiii 



XIV INDEX OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

OJTOSITE I'AGE 

12. Cupid sharpening his Arrow, . . . .188 

Rafael Mengs, German painter, 1728-1779. 

13. Ariadne sleeping, . . . . . . .198- 

Sculptor unknown. Museum of the Vatican. 

14. The Madonna of the Straw, .... 248 

Charles P. Durward, American painter, 1 844-1 875. 

15. Easter Morning, . . . . . . .258 

Bernhard Plockhorst, German painter, 1825-. 

16. The Holy Grail, ....... 268 

W. L. Taylor, American painter, 1854-. 



FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 



o>9ic 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 



Ever since the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey" of Homer 
were recognized as literary masterpieces, writers of all 
nations have found in them not only subjects for the 
exercise of their own genius, but an inexhaustible fund 
of illustration which in these days we call mythological 
and classical allusions. 

Greek mythology has become so interwoven with our 
literature that some knowledge of it is absolutely neces- 
sary on the part of the reader of modern history, poetry, 
essays, or even fiction, if he would read with ease and 
any true appreciation of the thought of the author. 

The average reader passes over these allusions as he 
does over the French and German quotations, not quite 
satisfied, but having neither the time nor the oppor- 
tunity to consult the proper reference book. 

And even if both time and opportunity are at his dis- 
posal, what a waste of energy is involved in the process ! 
What a slow, laborious, unsatisfactory method of acquir- 
ing knowledge is that which presupposes the constant 
use of a dictionary or encyclopaedia ! Of course these 
and other books of reference have their place and are 



2 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

indispensable to every student, but when one is reading 
for pleasure or for culture, and especially when one is 
reading poetry, the frequent interruption to look up 
allusions destroys the reader's pleasure utterly. Yet 
students are urged to do this by teachers and writers 
who are supposed to be competent guides for young 
readers. One writer on this subject says, " Until the 
habit of looking up allusions has been acquired and 
practised, a reader does not know what he has lost of 
possible knowledge of the pertinence of illustration, 
example, and analogy, borrowed from another avenue 
of literature than the one through which the author 
is leading him. Unfortunately only the few are well 
versed in historical knowledge, legendary and mytho- 
logical lore, the language of art, and the learning of 
science. Yet, if a reader follow the author's lead every 
time, he will soon find that he brings to his reading an 
ever-increasing fund of desirable information which can 
be applied over and over again." 

Now we claim if our reading were guided aright, if 
teachers had the right ideas of selection and arrange- 
ment, we could gain from literature itself the power 
to interpret other literature. 

The myths, as we find them in our hand-books of 
mythology or in our classical dictionaries, have no 
especial merit; it is their adaptability for illustration 
that commends them to authors of all times and con- 
ditions, that shows them to be of permanent interest ta 
the reading world. The educational value of the study 
of mythology has been underestimated by the great 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 3, 

majority of our teachers, even by those who have had a 
classical education, until very recently. 

That there has been a great waking up on this sub- 
ject no one can doubt who takes notice of the sup- 
plementary reading now recommended by the best 
educators throughout the country. Publishers vie with 
one another in bringing out in most attractive form the 
stories from the Greek and Latin classics especially 
written for young readers. How charming these stories 
are both teachers and pupils who have read them are 
willing to testify. But however interesting and delight- 
ful these prose stories may be made, they must be sup- 
plemented by poetry on the same subjects before the 
student is prepared to take up the study of the history 
of English literature, or the reading of the masterpieces 
of English literature, as he is expected to do in his high 
school course. 

Every traveller who visits the great art museums of 
European cities, and especially those of Rome, realizes 
that his education has been much neglected unless he 
has studied the ancient classics, for here he finds their 
myths embodied. They look at him from the canvas 
of Raphael ; their marble forms speak to his sense of 
beauty and harmony. What if they speak in a dead 
language .'' 

So great an educational value have the famous paint- 
ings and sculptures, that even the cheapest copies of 
them, like photographs, become the treasures of those 
who have seen the originals and have learned their his- 
tory. The field of English literature is so large that a 



4 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

lifetime is not sufficient to explore its highways, even if 
the reader has time to devote to it, and his taste leads 
him to the highways instead of the byways. What, 
then, can we do for our students that will help them to 
better results than the vague, unclassified, chaotic ideas 
concerning books and authors which the majority of 
readers possess ? 

The translator and the printing press have added to 
our original English literature the literature of every 
nation and every language on the face of the earth, yet 
with all this acquisition of literary wealth we must hold 
fast to the old Greek and Latin masterpieces if we would 
find ourselves at home among the authors of the world. 

These ancient classics have been truly called the 
ABC of literature, and whoever wishes to gain the 
power to interpret modern thought correctly must be 
familiar with them either in the original or by means 
of translations. 

Perhaps the most striking example of this necessity 
will present itself when the student begins to read 
" Paradise Lost." Milton drew his illustrations so 
largely from classical sources that not one in a hun- 
dred who begins his greatest work ever finishes it, sim- 
ply because of inability to understand the allusions with 
which it abounds. 

The following passage from the first book of '' Para- 
dise Lost " is perhaps the finest example of the author's 
power of bringing his whole range of historic knowl- 
edge to bear upon a single point. He represents Satan 
at the head of his army of fallen spirits. 



INTR on UC TOR Y ESS A V. 5 

*' He through the armed files 
Darts his experienced eye, and soon traverse 
The whole battalion, views their order due. 
Their visages and stature as of gods ; 
Their number last he sums. And now his heart 
Distends with pride, and hard'ning, in his strength 
Glories : for never, since created man, 
Met such embodied force as nam'd with these 
Could merit more than that small infantry 
Warr'd on by cranes ; though all the giant brood 
Of Phlegra with the heroic race were joined 
That sought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side 
Mix'd with auxiliar gods ; and what resounds 
In fable or romance of Uther's son, 
Begirt with British and Armoric Knights : 
And all who since, baptiz'd or infidel. 
Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban, 
Damasco, or Marocco or Trebisond, 
Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore, 
When Charlemagne with all his peerage fell 
By Fontarabia. Thus far these, beyond 
Compare of mortal prowess, yet observed 
Their dread commander." 

Here v^e have a comparison of Satan's armed host 
with all those that have v^on historic fame from the 
time of Homer to that of Charlemagne. In the open- 
ing lines of the third book of the " Iliad," Homer com- 
pares the renewal of battle between the Greeks and the 
Trojans to the annual battle between the cranes and the 
pygmies, as if it were an event with which his hearers 
must be thoroughly familiar ; and Milton, taking his 
cue from Homer, adds to this from so many different 



6 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

sources, that we are almost overwhelmed with the 
cumulative weight of the comparison. It gives us a 
glimpse into the author's mind, and also shows us the 
sources upon which he drew for the wealth of imagery 
contained in every page of his poetry. 

The reader who expects to enjoy Milton must bring 
with him knowledge gained from the same sources — 
the myth, fable, romance, legend, and history of the 
past. 

The reading of any one of Shakspeare's plays forces 
the thoughtful reader to the same conclusion. Though 
*' he knew little Latin and less Greek," his writings 
are saturated with ancient classic thought, no doubt 
gained from translations. Chapman's Homer, Surrey's 
Virgil, and North's Plutarch must have been his 
text-books. Not only do the Greek plays — "■ Mid- 
summer Night's Dream," " Timon of Athens," " Troilus 
and Cressida " — and the Roman plays — • " Coriolanus," 
" Antony and Cleopatra," and '' Julius Caesar " — vouch 
for his familiarity with classic poetry and ancient his- 
tory, but his English '' Kings " also teem with mytho- 
logical allusions. 

Falstaff says, *' We, that take purses, go by the moon 
and seven stars, and not by Phoebus — he, that wander- 
ing knight so fair." And again, '' Let not us that are 
squires of the night's body be called thieves of the day's 
beauty ; let us be Diana' s foresters." In the same play 
— "Henry IV.," Part I. — Sir Richard Vernon gives 
Harry Percy a picture of Prince Hal as he saw him 
preparing to take the field against the rebels. 



INTR on UCTORY ESS A V. 7 

" I saw young Harry with his beaver on, 
His cuishes on his thighs, gallantly armed, 
Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury, 
And vaulted with such ease into his seat. 
As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds. 
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, 
And witch the world with noble horsemanship." 

Hotspur's answer suits the description. He says : — 

" Let them come ; 
They come like sacrifices in their train, 
And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war 
All hot and bleeding will we offer them. 
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit 
Up to the ears in blood." 

In a lighter vein is the conversation between Lorenzo 
and Jessica, — Act V., Scene L, ** Merchant of Venice " 
— but no less striking is the use of similes borrowed 
from the classics. Lorenzo and Jessica are walking in 
the pleasure grounds of Portia's house. He says : — 

" The moon shines bright : — in such a night as this, 
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees 
And they did make no noise, — in such a night, 
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, 
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents. 
Where Cressid lay that night. 

Jessica. In such a night 

Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew j 
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself 
And ran dismayed away. 

Lor. In such a night 

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 



8 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Upon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love 
To come again to Carthage. 

Jes. In such a night 

Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs 
That did renew old ^son." 

The poet makes even these minor characters in the 
play so familiar with the ''Iliad," the "^neid," the 
old story of the unhappy lovers, Pyramus and Thisbe, 
which originated in Babylon, and the story of Medea, 
the enchantress, whose arts secured to Jason the capture 
of the Golden Fleece, that they make them the subject 
of private conversation in the most natural manner. 
We do not feel that he is showing off his learning ; he 
is simply using it for the purpose of illustrating and 
making more pleasing his own pictures of life and 
thought. In another part of the play there is an allu- 
sion to this last myth, showing that it must have been 
a favorite with him. Bassanio in describing Portia to 
Antonio says : — 

" Her sunny locks 
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece. 
Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand. 
And many Jasons come in quest of her." 

These few examples gathered from the most familiar 
of Shakspeare's plays might be multiplied to hundreds, 
but perhaps they are sufficient to show that it would 
be great economy on the part of the student to go to 
these original sources of illustration before attempting 
to read the great poets of his own language. 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 9 

If the tragedies of ^schylus are, in his own words, 
" made-up dishes from the great Homeric banquet," 
what shall we say when we compare all the other great 
epic and dramatic poems that have become a part of 
our English literature by means of translations, with the 
" Iliad " and the " Odyssey " ? The conclusion reached 
by Dr. Johnson more than a hundred years ago applies 
with equal force to the present : — 

" Modern writers are the moons of literature ; they 
never shine but by reflected light, by light borrowed 
from the ancients." 



GROUP I. 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 



NIGHT. Latin, Nox or Nyx. 

" Night, sable goddess, from her ebon throne. 
In rayless majesty, now stretches forth 
Her leaden scepter o'er a still and pulseless world. 
Silence, how dread ! and darkness, how profound ! " 

Young's " Night Thoughts." 
THE MYTH OF NYX, THE NIGHT. 

Nyx was the daughter of Chaos and the wife of 
Er'-e-bus. Her children were the Fates, — • Clo'tho, 
Lach'esis, and At'ropos, — Death, Sleep, Dreams, 
Laughter, Woe, Vengeance, Strife, and the Hesper'ides, 
four maidens who, with the aid of a terrible dragon 
that never slept, guarded the golden apples growing on 
a tree that had been given to Juno on her wedding-day. 

Nyx with her two sons, Death and Sleep, dwelt in 
a cave in the west, '' behind where Atlas supports the 
heavens." 

In art there have been many ways of representing 
Nyx. Sometimes she has a woman's form, with or 
without wings, clothed in black drapery and having a 
starry veil ; and she is riding in a chariot drawn by black 



12 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

steeds, and accompanied by the stars. Again, she floats 
through the air, clothed in a long black robe, carrying 
in her arms Death and Sleep. Death is draped in 
black and holds an inverted torch ; while Sleep is robed 
in white and has for his symbol the poppy. 

The author of Sheridan's Ride must have had the 
former of these two pictures in mind when he wrote : — 

" A steed as black as the steeds of Night 
Was seen to pass as with eagle flight." 

Compare these pictures with the poetical representations. 

HYMN TO THE NIGHT. 

H. W. Longfellow. 

I heard the trailing garments of the Night 

Sweep through her marble halls ! 
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light 

From the celestial walls ! 

I felt her presence, by its spell of might, 

Stoop o'er me from above ; 
The calm majestic presence of the Night 

As of the one I love. 

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight. 

The manifold, soft chimes, 
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night 

Like some old poet's rhymes. 

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air 

My spirit drank repose ; 
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, — 

From those deep cisterns flows. 




She floats through the air, carrying- in her arms Death and Sleep. 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 13 

O holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear 

What man has borne before ! 
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, 

And they complain no more. 

Peace ! Peace ! Orestes-like ^ I breathe this prayer ! 

Descend with broad-winged flight 
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair. 

The best-beloved Night. 



TO NIGHT. 

Shelley. 

Swiftly walk o'er the western wave. 

Spirit of Night ! 
Out of the misty eastern cave, 
Where all the long and lone daylight, 
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, 
Which make thee terrible and dear — 

Swift be thy flight ! 

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray. 

Star-inwrought ! 
Bhnd with thine hair the eyes of Day, 
Kiss her until she be wearied out. 
Then wander o'er city and sea and land. 
Touching all with thine opiate wand — 

Come, long sought ! 

When I arose and saw the dawn, 

I sighed for thee ; 
When light rode high, and the dew was gone, 

1 For the story of Orestes read Goethe's " Iphigenia in Tauris," a selec- 
tion from which will be found in Group III. 



14 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, 
And the weary Day turned to her rest, 
Lingering like an unloved guest, 
I sighed for thee. 

Thy brother, Death, came, and cried, 

" Wouldst thou me ? " 
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed. 
Murmured like a noontide bee, 
" Shall I nestle near thy side ? 
Wouldst thou me ? " — And I repUed, 

" No, not thee ! " 

Death will come when thou art dead. 

Soon, too soon — 
Sleep will come when thou art fled ; 
Of neither would I ask the boon 
I ask of thee, beloved Night — 
Swift be thine approaching flight, 

Come soon, soon ! 



AURORA, Lat; EOS, Gr. 

Aurora, the goddess of the dawn, was the daughter 
of Hyperion and Thea, and a sister of Apollo, the Sun- 
god, and of Diana, the Moon-goddess. She was mar- 
ried to Astrae'us, and became the mother of the winds, 
— Bo'reas, the North; Zeph'yrus, the West; Eu'rus, the 
East ; and No'tus, the South. 

She was also the mother of Lucifer, the light-bringer, 
and of the Stars of Heaven. 

She afterwards married Titho'nus, son of Laom'edon, 
king of Troy. She stole him away, and prevailed on 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 15" 

Jupiter to grant him immortality ; but forgetting to have 
perpetual youth joined in the gift, after some time she 
began to discern, to her great mortification, that he was 
growing old. When his hair was quite white she left 
his society; but he still had the range of her palace, 
lived on ambrosial food, and was clad in celestial raiment. 

At length he lost the power of using his limbs, and 
then she shut him up in his chamber, whence his feeble 
voice might be heard at times. Finally she turned him 
into a grasshopper. 

Memnon, king of Ethiopia, celebrated in the story of 
the Trojan War, was the son of Aurora and Tithonus. 
He came with his warriors to assist the kindred of his 
father in the war. King Priam received him with 
great honors, and the very next day after his arrival, 
Memnon, impatient of repose, led his troops to the 
field. A long and doubtful contest ensued between 
him and Achilles ; at length victory declared for 
Achilles, Memnon fell, and the Trojans fled in dismay. 
Aurora, who, from her station in the sky, had seen 
the danger of her son and finally his fall, directed 
his brothers, the Winds, to convey his body to the 
banks of the river Esepus in Paphlagonia. In the even- 
ing she came, accompanied by the Hours and the 
Pleiads, and wept and lamented for her son. Night, 
in sympathy with her grief, spread the heavens with 
clouds ; all nature mourned for the offspring of the 
Dawn. Aurora remains inconsolable for the loss of her 
son. Her tears still flow, and may be seen at early 
morning in the form of dew-drops on the grass. 



16 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Aurora had her own chariot, which she drove across 
the vast horizon both morning and night, before and 
after the sun-god. Hence she is also the goddess of 
twihght. She is described by the poets as a beautiful 
Qiaiden with rosy arms and fingers ; she bears a star 
on her forehead and a torch in her hand. 

Wrapping around her the rich folds of her violet- 
tinged mantle, she leaves her couch before the break of 
day and yokes her horses to her glorious chariot. She 
then hastens cheerfully to open the gates of heaven, in 
order to herald the approach of her brother, while the 
tender plants and flowers, reviving by the morning 
dew, lift up their heads to welcome her as she passes. 

Some quotations from Pope's translation of the 
"Iliad" will show how Aurora was mentioned by 
Homer. The opening lines. Book VHI. : — 

" Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn, 
Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn, 
When Jove convened the senate of the skies 
Where high Olympus' cloudy tops arise." 

The opening lines. Book XI. : — 

^' The saffron morn with early blushes spread, 
Now rose refulgent from Tithonus' bed 
With new-born day to gladden mortal sight 
And gild the courts of heaven with sacred light." 

The opening lines. Book XIX. : — 

" Soon as Aurora heaved her orient head 
Above the waves that blushed with early red 
(With new-born day to gladden mortal sight 




" Tke saffron mom, with early blushes spread. 
Now rose refulgent from Tithonus' bed.'' 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 17 

And gild the courts of heaven with sacred Hght) 
The immortal arms the goddess-mother bears 
Swift to her son." 

The story of Aurora's mortal husband, Tithonus, has 
been told by Tennyson in the following matchless 
monologue : — 

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, 

The vapors weep their burden to the ground, 

Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, 

And after many a summer dies the swan. 

Me only cruel immortality 

Consumes : I wither slowly in thine arms, 

Here at the quiet hmit of the world, 

A white-hair'd shadow roaming like a dream 

The ever silent spaces of the East, 

Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn. 

Alas ! for this gray shadow, once a man — 

So glorious in his beauty and thy choice, 

Who madest him thy chosen, that he seem'd 

To his great heart none other than a god ! 

I ask'd thee, " Give me immortality." 

Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile. 

Like wealthy men who care not how they give. 

But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills. 

And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me, 

And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'd 

To dwell in presence of immortal youth, 

Immortal age beside immortal youth, 

And all I was, in ashes. Can thy love, 

Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even now, 

Close over us, the silver star, thy guide. 

Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears 

c 



18 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

To hear me ? Let me go ; take back thy gift : 

Why should a man desire in any way 

To vary from the kindly race of men, 

Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance 

Where all should pause, as is most meet for all? 

A soft air fans the cloud apart ; there comes 
A glimpse of that dark world where I was born ; 
Once more the old mysterious ghmmer steals 
From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure, 
And bosom beating with a heart renew'd. 
Thy cheek begins to redden thro' the gloom. 
Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine 
Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team 
Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise 
And shake the darkness from their loosened manes. 
And beat the twilight into flakes of fire. 

Lo ! ever thus thou growest beautiful 

In silence, then before thine answer given 

Departest, and thy tears are on my cheek. 

Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears, 

And make me tremble lest a saying learnt. 

In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true ? 

" The gods themselves cannot recall their gifts." 

Ay me ! ay me ! with what another heart 

In days far-off, and with what other eyes 

I used to watch — if I be he that watch'd — 

The lucid outline forming round thee : saw 

The dim curls kindle into sunny rings ; 

Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood 

Glow with the glow that slowly crimson'd all 

Thy presence and thy portals, while I lay 

Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy-warm 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 19 

With kisses balmier than half-opening buds 
Of April, and could hear the lips that kiss'd 
Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet 
Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing, 
While Ilion like a mist rose into towers. 

Yet hold me not forever in thine East : 
How can my nature longer mix with thine ? 
Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold 
Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet 
Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam 
Floats up from those dim fields about the homes 
Of happy men that have the power to die. 
And grassy barrows of the happier dead. 
Release me, and restore me to the ground ; 
Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my grave : 
Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn ; 
I earth in earth forget these empty courts 
And thee returning on thy silver wheels. 

An antistrophe of one of Euripides' dramas, *' The 
Troades," contains this beautiful allusion to Aurora : — 

" And Eos' self, the fair, white-steeded Morning, — 
Her hght which blesses other lands, returning 

Has changed to a gloomy pall ! 
She looked across the land with eyes of amber, — 

She saw the city's fall, — 

She who, in pure embraces. 
Had held there, in the hymeneal chamber, 
Her children's father, bright Tithonus old, 
Whom the four steeds with starry brows and paces 
Bore on, snatched upward, on the car of gold. 
And with him, all the land's full hope of joy ! 
The love-charms of the gods are vain for Troy." 



20 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 



APOLLO, OR PHCEBUS APOLLO, Lat. ; HELIOS, Gr. 

The office of Apollo was to give light to men and 
gods during the day. He is described as rising every 
morning in the east, preceded by his sister Aurora, who, 
with her rosy fingers, paints the tips of the mountains, 
and draws aside the misty veil through which her 
brother is about to appear. 

When he has burst forth in all the glorious light of 
day, Aurora disappears, and Apollo drives his flame- 
darting chariot along the accustomed track. 

This chariot, which is of burnished gold, is drawn by 
four fire-breathing steeds, behind which the young god 
stands erect with flashing eyes, his head surrounded 
with rays, holding in one hand the reins of those fiery 
coursers which in all hands save his are unmanageable. 
When towards evening he descends the curve in order 
to cool his burning forehead in the waters of the sea, 
he is followed closely by his sister Sele'ne (the moon), 
who is now prepared to take charge of the world and 
light up the dusky night. 

When Apollo had finished his daily course, a winged 
boat or cup which had been made for him by Hephaes'- 
tus (Vulcan) conveyed him, with his chariot and horses, 
to the east, where he began again his bright journey. 

This is what Milton alludes to in " Comus " : — 

" Now the gilded car of day 
His golden axle doth allay 
In the steep Atlantic stream 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 21 

And the slope-Sun his upward beam 
Shoots against the dusky pole, 
Pacing toward the other goal 
Of his chamber in the east." 

With the first beams of the light of the sun all nature 
awakens to renewed life, and the woods re-echo with 
the songs of the birds. Hence, Apollo is the god of 
music. He is himself the musician among the Olympic 
gods. 

He attained his greatest importance among the 
Greeks as a god of prophecy. His oracle at Delphi 
was in high repute all over the world. That which 
raised the whole moral tone of the Greek nation was 
the belief that he was the god who accepted repentance 
as an atonement for sin, who pardoned the contrite 
sinner, and who acted as the protector of those who 
had committed a crime which required long years of 
expiation. 

The most splendid temple of Apollo was at Delphi, 
which was considered the centre of the earth. The 
serpent, Python, was a monster that inhabited the val- 
ley near Delphi and destroyed both men and cattle. 
Apollo slew the Python, and in honor of this event the 
Pythian games were celebrated in the third year of 
every Olympiad. 

Soon after his victory over the Python, Apollo saw 
Eros (Cupid) bending his bow, and mocked at his 
efforts. Eros, to punish him, shot him in the heart 
with his golden arrow of love, and at the same time 
discharged his leaden arrow of aversion into the heart 



Z2 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

of Daphne, the daughter of the river-god Peneus. 
Daphne fled from Apollo, and calling to her father for 
aid, was transformed into a laurel bush. Apollo sor- 
rowfully crowned himself with the leaves, and declared 
that, in memory of his love, it should henceforth remain 
ever green, and be held sacred to him.^ 

Apollo afterwards married Coro'nis. One day his 
favorite bird, the raven, flew to him with the intelli- 
gence that his wife had transferred her affections to 
another. Apollo instantly destroyed her with one of 
his death-dealing darts. He repented when too late. 
He punished the raven for its garrulity by changing 
its color from white to black. Coronis left an infant 
son named Ascle'pius (^sculapius), who was educated 
by the Centaur, Chi'ron. 

He became a celebrated physician, and was so skil- 
ful that he could restore the dead to life. Pluto com- 
plained to Jupiter, who killed Asclepius with one of his 
thunder-bolts. Apollo was so exasperated that he killed 
the Cyclops who had forged it. For this offence he 
was banished from Olympus. Coming to earth, he for 
nine years served Adme'tus as a shepherd, and was 
treated by him with the utmost kindness. By the aid 
of Apollo, Admetus gained the hand of Alces'tis, 
daughter of Pelias. 

The exiled god obtained from the Fates the gift of 
immortality for Admetus, on condition that when his 
last hour approached, some member of his family should 

1 In "A Fable for Critics," James Russell Lowell turns this story to 
account, with much wit as well as wisdom. 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 23 

be willing to die in his place. When the fatal time 
came, Alcestis took his place. But Her'acles (Her- 
cules), happening to arrive at the house of Admetus, 
engaged and overcame death, and restored Alcestis to 
her family. 

All of these stories have furnished themes for poets. 
Euripides wrote his tragedy of " Alcestis " about 450 b.c, 
and Lowell, in his poem called " The Shepherd of King 
Admetus," gives us his impressions of Apollo's powers 
as a musician. 

The following poem presents another admirable trait 
in the character of Apollo. 

A SONG OF APOLLO: A LEGEND OF ANCIENT GREECE. 

By Lillie E. Barr. 
(From Harper's Young People. Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.) 

After the burning of Troy, to Argos there came 

A soldier aged and weary : 
Naught had he gained in the contest, treasure nor fame, 
So now he lifted his lyre, and day after day 
Stood in the streets or the market, and strove to play. 

No one gave him a lepton,^ no one waited to hear 

A song so ancient and simple ; 
Hungry and hopeless, he ceased ; then a youth drew near — 
A youth with a beautiful face — and he said, " Old man, 
Now strike on thy lyre and sing, for I know thou can." 

" O Greek," said old Akera'tos, " I have lost the power. 
With handling of swords and lances." 

1 Lepton : a small thing. 



24 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

" Then here's a didrachmon ^ — lend me thy lyre an hour ; 
Thou hold out the cap in thine hand, and I will play : 
Surely these men that are deaf shall listen to-day." 

Then with a mighty hand sweeping the trembling strings, 

Over the tumult and chatting, 
Like the call of a clear sweet trumpet, the young voice rings ; 
For he sings of the taking of Troy, and the chords 
Sound like the trampling of hoofs and the clashing of swords. 

There in the market of Argos is Hector slain, 

There in their midst is Achilles. 
Breathless, they listen, again and again. 
Fill up the cap with coins, and shout in the crowded street, 
" Strike up thy lyre once more, O Singer strange and sweet." 

Ah ! then came magical notes, soft melodies low ; 

The air grew purple and amber. 
Scented with honey, and spices, and roses a-blow : 
And there in the glory sat Love — Mother and Queen — 
And eyes grew misty with tears for days that had been. 

Eyes grew misty, hearts grew tender, tender and free : 

Every one gave to the soldier 
Bracelets, and rings, and perfumes from over the sea. 
Then said the Singer, '' Now, soldier, gather thy store. 
The hands that have fought for Greece need never beg more. 

" Greeks, dwelhng in Argos, this is a shameful sight — 

A soldier wounded and begging." 
The Singer grew splendid and godlike, and rose in unbearable 

light: 
Then they knew it was Phoebus Apollo, and said, 
" Never again in Argos shall the brave beg bread." 

1 Didrachmon : a two-drachma piece; an ancient Greek silver coin 
worth nearly forty cents. 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 25 

Chaucer, '' the Father of English poetry," shows him- 
self "the heir of all the ages" of literature that had 
preceded him. One of the many merits of the " Can- 
terbury Tales " is that each of the story-tellers entertains 
his hearers with a tale suited to his particular walk in 
life. This is noticeable in the Manciple's tale. 

The steward of a college, coming in daily contact with 
professors and students, might naturally be expected to 
pick up bits of classic lore, and so, after giving an ac- 
count of the most notable exploits of Apollo, he tells 
how the raven became black. Chaucer uses the name 
crow, though raven seems to be the name generally 
accepted by the mythologies. 

THE MANCIPLE'S TALE. 

When Phoebus dwelled here in earth adown, 

As olde bookes make mentioun, 

He was the moste lusty bachelor 

Of all this world, and eke the best archer. 

He slew Python the serpent, as he lay 

Sleeping against the sun upon a day ; 

And many another noble worthy deed 

He with his bow wrought, as men maye read, 

Playen he could on every minstrelsy, 

And singe, that it was a melody 

To hearen of his cleare voice the soun', 

Certes the king of Thebes, Amphioiin, 

That with his singing walled the city, 

Could never singe half so well as he. 

Thereto he was the seemlieste man 

That is, or was since that the world began ; 



26 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

What needeth it his features to descrive? 
For in this world is none so fair alive. 
He was therewith full fill'd of gentleness, 
Of honour, and of perfect worthiness. 

This Phoebus, that was flower of bach'lery, 
As well in freedom as in chivalry, 
For his disport, in sign eke of vict6ry 
Of Python, so as telleth us the story. 
Was wont to bearen in his hand a bow. 
Now had this Phoebus in his house a crow, 
Which in a cage he fostered many a day. 
And taught it speaken, as men teach a jay. 
White was this crow, as is a snow-white swan, 
And counterfeit the speech of every man 
He coulde when he shoulde tell a tale. 
Therewith in all this world no nightingale 
Ne coulde by an hundred thousand deal 
Singe so wondrous merrily and well. 
Now had this Phoebus in his house a wife, 
Which that he loved more than his life. 
And night and day did ever his diligence 
Her for to please, and do her reverence : 
Save only, if that I the sooth shall sayn, 
Jealous he was, and would have kept her fain. 
But all for nought, for it availeth nought. 

* * * * * * * * 

But now to purpose, as I first began. 

This worthy Phoebus did all that he can 

To please her, weening through such pleasance. 

And for his manhood and his governance, 

That no man should have put him from her grace ; 

^ ** * * * * * 
Take any bird, and put it in a cage 
And do all thine intent, and thy corage, 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 27 

To foster it tenderly with meat and drink 
Of alle dainties that thou canst bethink, 
And keep it all so cleanly as thou may ; 
Although the cage of gold be never so gay, 
Yet had this bird, by twenty thousand fold, 
Lever in a forest, both wild and cold, 
Go eate wormes, and such wretchedness. 
For ever this bird will make it his business 
T' escape out of his cage when that he may : 
His liberty the bird desireth aye. 
Let take a cat, and foster her with milk 
xA.nd tender flesh, and make her couch of silk. 
And let her see a mouse go by the wall, 
Anon she weiveth milk, and flesh, and all. 
And every dainty that is in that house. 
Such appetite hath she to eat the mouse. 
So, here hath kind her domination, 
And appetite drives out discretion. 



This Phoebus, which that thought upon no guile 

Deceived was for all his jollity 

For besides him another hadde she 

A man of little reputation. 

Nought worth to Phoebus in comparison, 

And so befell when Phoebus was absent 

His wife anon hath for her lover sent. 



This white crow that hung aye in the cage 

Beheld them meet and said never a word ; 

And when that home was come Phoebus the lord. 

This crowe sung " Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo ! " 

'' What? bird," quoth Phoebus, " what song sing'st thou now? 



28 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Wert thou not wont so merrily to sing, 
That to my heart it was a rejoicing 
To hear thy voice? alas ! what song is this? " 
" My lord," quoth he, " I singe not amiss : 
Phoebus," quoth he, " for all thy worthiness, 
For all thy beauty, and all thy gentleness. 
For all thy song, for all thy minstrelsy. 
For all thy watching, bleared is thine eye." 



What will ye more ? 
The crow anon him told 
How that his wife was false to him. 
To his great shame and his great villainy ; 
And told him oft he saw it with his eyen. 
This Phoebus gan awayward for to wrien ; 
Him thought his woeful hearte burst in two. 
His bow he bent and set therein a flo, 
And in his ire he hath his wife slain ; 
This is th' effect, there is no more to sayn. 
For sorrow of which he brake his minstrelsy, 
Both harp and lute gitern and psaltery ; 
And eke he brake his arrows and his bow ; 
And after that thus spake he to the crow. 
"Traitor," quoth he, with tongue of scorpion, 
" Thou hast me brought to my confusion ; 
Alas, that I was wrought ! why n'ere I dead ? 
O deare wife that wert to me so sad. 
And eke so true, now liest thou dead 
With face pale of hue. 
Full guilteless, that durst I swear y-wis ! 
O, hasty hand, to do so foul amiss ! 
O troubled wit, O ire reckeless, 
That unadvised smit'st the guilteless." 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS, 29 

And to the crow, " O false thief," said he, 
" I will thee quite anon thy false tale. 
Thou sung whilom like any nightingale, 
Now shalt thou, false thief, thy song foregon, 
And eke thy white feathers every one, 
Nor ever in all thy Hfe shalt thou speak ; 
Thus shall men on a traitor be awreak ; 
Thou and thine offspring ever shall be black. 
Nor ever sweete noise shall ye make. 
But ever cry against tempest and rain, 
In token that through thee my wife is slain." 
And to the crow he start, and that anon. 
And pull'd his white feathers every one, 
And made him black, and reft him all his song, 
And eke his speech, and out at door him flung 
Unto the devil, which I him betake ; 
And for this cause be all crowes black. 

A poet of our own times, John G. Saxe, has rendered 
the same story into verse in his own lively serio-comic 
fashion. We select from his works, however, the story 
of Phaethon, son of Apollo. 

PHAETHON; OR, THE AMATEUR COACHMAN. 

Dan Phaethon — so the histories run — 
Was a jolly young chap, and a son of the Sun, — 
Or rather of Phoebus ; but as to his mother, 
Genealogists make a deuce of a pother. 
Some going for one, and some for another ! 
For myself, I must say, as a careful explorer. 
This roaring young blade was the son of Aurora. 

Now old Father Phoebus, ere railways begun 
To elevate funds and depreciate fun. 



30 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Drove a very fast coach by the name of '' The Sun, 

Running, they say, 

Trips every day, 
(On Sundays and all in a heathenish way,) 
All lighted up with a famous array 
Of lanterns that shone with a brilHant disi)lay, 
And dashing along like a gentleman's ' shay/ 
With never a fare, and nothing to pay ! 
Now Phaethon begged of his doting old father. 
To grant him a favor, and this the rather, 
Since some one had hinted the youth to annoy, 
That he wasn't by any means Phoebus's boy ! 
Intending, the rascally son of a gun, 
To darken the brow of the son of the Sun ! 
" By the terrible Styx ! " said the angry sire, 
While his eyes flashed volumes of fury and fire, 
" To prove your reviler an infamous Kar, 
I swear I will grant you whate'er you desire." 

"Then, by my head," 

The youngster said, 
" I'll mount the coach when the horses are fed ! — 
For there's nothing I'd choose, as I'm alive, 
Like a seat on the box and a dashing drive ! " 

" Nay, Phaethon, don't, — 

I beg you won't, — 
Just stop a moment and think upon't ! 
You're quite too young," continued the sage, 
" To tend a coach at your tender age ! 

Besides, you see, 

'Twill really be 
Your first appearance on any stage ! 

Desist, my child, 

The cattle are wild. 
And when their mettle is thoroughly '■ riled,' 
Depend upon't, the coach'll be * spiled,' — 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 31 

They're not the fellows to draw it mild ! 

Desist, I say, 

You'll rue the day, — 
So mind and don't be foolish, Pha ! " 

But the youth was proud. 

And swore aloud, 
'Twas just the thing to astonish the crowd, — 
He'd have the horses and wouldn't be cowed ! 
In vain the boy was cautioned at large. 
He called for the chargers, unheeding the charge, 
And vowed that any young fellow of force 
Could manage a dozen coursers, of course ! 
Now Phoebus felt exceedingly sorry 
He had given his word in such a hurry, 
But having sworn by the Styx, no doubt 
He was in for it now and couldn't back out. 
So calling Phaethon up in a trice. 
He gave the youth a bit of advice ; — 
(A '■ stage direction ' of which the core is, 
" Don't use the whip, — they're ticklish things, — 
But, whatever you do, hold on to the strings !) 
Mind your eye, and spare your goad. 
Be shy of the stones, and keep in the road ! " 

Now Phaethon, perched in the coachman's place 

Drove off the steeds at a furious pace, 

Fast as coursers running a race. 

Or bounding along in a steeple-chase. 

Of whip and shout there was no lack, 

Crack — whack — 

Whack — crack — 
Resounded along the horses' backs ! — 
Frightened beneath the stinging lash. 
Cutting their flanks in many a gash. 
On — on they sped as swift as a flash, 



32 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Through thick and thin away they dash, 
(Such rapid driving is always rash !) 
When all at once, with a dreadful crash, 
The whole ' estabhshment ' went to smash ! 

And Phaethon, he. 

As all agree. 
Off the coach was suddenly hurled 
Into a puddle, and out of the world ! 

MORAL. 

Don't rashly take to dangerous courses. 
Nor set it down in your table of forces. 
That any one man equals any four horses. 

Don't swear by the Styx ! 

It's one of Old Nick's 

Diabohcal tricks 
To get people into a regular 'fix,' 
And hold 'em there as fast as bricks ! 

In the first book of the '' Iliad," Apollo is represented 
as the god of pestilence. He it is who brings unnum- 
bered woes to Greece by means of a contagious disease 
which ** heaped the camp with mountains of the dead." 

The story of Phaethon gives us Apollo as the sun- 
god. Among the Romans the seven days of the week 
were dedicated each to a god or goddess, and the first 
was sacred to Apollo, hence our name Sunday. 

The greatest of Christian artists, Raphael, found in 
these myths subjects not unworthy of his genius, and 
among the famous paintings in the Vatican galleries 
are seven by this master, called "The Days of the 
Week," representing Apollo, Diana, Jove, Saturn, 
Mars, Venus, and Mercury. 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 2>l 

DIANA, Lat; SELE'NE, Gr. 

Selene, daughter of Hyperion and Thea, represented 
the moon. The name signifies wanderer among the 
stars. She was supposed to drive her chariot across 
the sky whilst her brother Apollo was reposing after 
the toils of the day. 

When the shades of evening began to enfold the 
earth, the two milk-white steeds of Selene rose out of 
the mysterious depths of Oceanus. Seated in a silvery 
chariot appeared the mild and gentle queen of the 
night, with a crescent on her fair brow, a gauzy veil 
flowing behind, and a lighted torch in her hand. 

It was said that Selene loved Endym'ion, on whom 
Jupiter had bestowed the gift of perpetual youth, but 
united with perpetual sleep, and that she descended to 
gaze on him every night on the summit of Mount 
Lat'mos, the place of his repose. 

The name Eiidyinion denotes the sudden plunge of 
the sun into the sea. 

Longfellow makes use of this myth in the following 
poem. 

ENDYMION. 

The rising moon has hid the stars ; 
Her level rays, like golden bars. 

Lie on the landscape green. 

With shadows brown between. 

And silver white the river gleams, 
As if Diana, in her dreams, 

Had dropt her silver bow 

Upon the meadows low. 



34 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

On such a tranquil night as this 
She woke Endymion with a kiss, 
When, sleeping in the grove, 
He dreamed not of her love. 

Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought. 
Love gives itself, but is not bought ; 
Nor voice nor sound betrays 
Its deep impassioned gaze. 

It comes, — the beautiful, the free, 
The crown of all humanity, — 

In silence and alone 

To seek the elected one. 

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep 
Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep. 
And kisses the closed eyes 
Of him, who slumbering hes. 

O weary hearts ! O slumbering eyes ! 
O drooping souls whose destinies 

Are fraught with fear and pain. 

Ye shall be loved again ! 

No one is so accursed by fate, 
No one so utterly desolate. 

But some heart, though unknown, 

Responds unto his own. 

Responds, — as if with unseen wings, 
An angel touched its quivering strings ; 
And whispers, in its song, 
"Where hast thou stayed so long?" 




Queen and huntress, chaste and fai 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 35 

Diana, the moon-goddess, was also the patroness of 
hunting. She is the feminine counterpart of her twin 
brother Apollo, and, like him, though she deals out 
destruction and sudden death to men and animals, she 
is also able to alleviate suffering and cure diseases. 
When the chase was ended, she and her maidens loved 
to assemble in a shady grove, or on the banks of a 
favorite stream, where they joined in song or the dance. 

This is the same goddess to whom Agamemnon was 
about to offer his daughter Iphigeni'a, previous to the 
departure of the Greeks for Troy. The story arose 
that Diana rescued the maiden at the moment of sacri- 
fice and substituted a hind in her place. She conveyed 
Iphigenia to Tauris, where she became a priestess in 
the temple of the goddess. 

The most celebrated statue of this divinity is that 
known as Diana of Versailles, now in the Louvre. 

In this statue she appears in the act of rescuing a 
hunted deer from its pursuers, on whom she is turning 
with an angry look. One hand is laid protectingly on 
the head of the stag, while with the other she draws an 
arrow from the quiver which hangs over her shoulder. 

The following song is from a play by Ben Jonson, 
called ''Cynthia's Revels," the name Cynthia also being 
given to Diana. (Hesperus sings to the accompani- 
ment of music) : — 

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, 
Now the sun is laid to sleep, 
Seated in thy silver chair 
State in wonted manner keep — 



36 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Hesperus entreats thy light, 
Goddess, excellently bright. 

Earth, let not thy envious shade 
Dare itself to interpose. 
Cynthia's shining orb was made 
Heaven to clear, when day did close. 
Bless us then with wished sight. 
Goddess, excellently bright. 

Lay thy bow of pearl apart, 

And thy crystal gleaming quiver : 

Give unto the flying hart 

Space to breathe, how short soever, — 

Thou that mak'st a day of night, 

Goddess, excellently bright. 

Then follows a conversation between Cynthia and 
Arete : — 

Cynthia, When hath Diana like an envious wretch 
That glitters only to her soothed self. 
Denying to the world the precious ore 
Of hoarded wealth, withheld her friendly aid ? 
Yet, do expect the whole of Cynthia's hght. 

Arete. Most true, most sacred goddess ; for the heavens 
Receive no good, of all the good they do : 
Nor Jove, nor you, nor other heavenly powers, 
Are fed with fumes which do from incense rise. 
Or sacrifices, reeking in their gore ; 
Yet, for the care which you of mortals have, 
(Whose proper good it is that they be so) 
You well are pleased with odours redolent ; 
But ignorant is all the race of men. 
Which still complains, not knowing why or when. 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 37 

Cynthia. Else, noble Arete, they would not blame, 
And tax, or for unjust, or for as proud 
Thy Cynthia in the things which are indeed 
The greater glories in our starry crown. 

Arete. How Cynthianly that is ; how worthily 
And like herself the matchless Cynthia speaks ! 
Thy presence broad, seals our delights for pure ; 
What's done in Cynthia's sight is done secure. 

Cynthia. That, then, so answered, dearest Arete, 
What th' argument, or what sort our sports 
Are like to be this night, I do not demand. 
Nothing, which duty and desire to please 
Bears written in the forehead, comes amiss. 

A7'ete. Excellent goddess, to a man whose worth. 
Without hyperbole, I this may praise 
One at least studious of deserving well, 
And, to speak truth, indeed deserving well. 

Cynthia. We have already judged. 

Arete. Nor are we ignorant how noble minds 
Suffer too much, through those indignities 
Which cruel, vicious persons cast on them. 

Cynthia. Ourselves have ever vowed to esteem, 
As virtue for itself, so fortune base ; 
Who's first in worth, the same be first in place, 
Nor farther notice, Arete, we crave 
Than their approval's sovereign warranty ; 
Let be thy care to make us known to him. 
Cynthia shall brighten what the world made dim. 



This play was first presented in 1600. It appears to 
have been very favorably received, since we are told 
that it was frequently acted at Black Friars by the 
children of Queen Elizabeth's chapel. 



38 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

It was also among the earliest plays revived after 
the Restoration, and was often performed at the New 
Theatre, Drury Lane. 

The foregoing extract is taken from Scene III. 

In the following poem Diana tells her own story : — 

ON LATMOS: A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 

Miss L. W. Backus. 
{Atlantic Monthly, September, 1879.) 

With hunting nymphs, a starry train, 
I lead the chase o'er heaven's plain ; 
Through many a lair of fog and rain, 
Through clear-washed azure space again, 
With beamy darts, each night's surprise, 
Flung down in lakelets' fringed eyes, — 
Earth's Argus watch, that see the hours 
Whose dark we streak with silver showers. 

Now on we chase through clear, cold heights, 

Far, far above earth's twinkling lights, 

Dissolving fast in midnight darks. 

Out, out ! ye puny, smoke-hued sparks ! 

Our laughter of immortal glee 

Rewards your pigmy mockery. 

Through cloud, through snow-drift, and white fire, 

We hunt through heaven, nor pause, nor tire. 

Hark ! from below a flute's sweet strain 
Sets tiptoe all my huntress train ; 
My silver-sandalled feet move slow. 
A magic flute ! now loud, now low. 
Now piercing sweet, now cadenced clear, 
Now fine as fay-voice to the ear. 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 39 

Till my divining goddess-eyes 

The stirred air's wake trace down the skies, 

To see on Latmos' barren peak 
The music's soul ! What, shepherd, speak ! 
For thy flute's sake, and for a face 
Lit pale with strange appeahng grace, 
I'll hear, — though scarce such open look 
This haughty virgin heart can brook. 
Thy name seems known to me ; 'tis one 
A flute might breathe, — Endymion. 

The music mute ? Nay, forward, chase ! 
This mood's not mine ! A shepherd's face 
With mortal sorrow written there. 
In mortal guise however fair. 
Can ne'er have held me. 'Twas the tune 
Drew back my silver-tripping shoon, 
Accordant, spell-bound ! In this hush 
Is space for breath, — then on we rush. 

What binds my feet and chains my eyes. 
Unwilling thus ? Whose daring tries 
A strength immortal born above ? 
Shall Dian stoop to human love ? 
Can this cold breast, Caucasus snow. 
With aught of mortal melting glow? 
On, — on ! What holds me ? Like a wind 
Sweep, sweep me hence, my virgins kind ! 

'Tis vain ! Those eyes so pleading bright 
Compel my own, as light the light ; 
One name storms fast my soul upon, — 
Endymion, Endymion ! 



40 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

A snow-bright statue, bow half drawn 
To slay, I stand wrapt i' the dawn 
Of some new sun, whose sweet fire thaws 
My heart and purpose in their pause. 



Is love, of human suffering born, — 
That love, my haughty spirit's scorn, — 
So all-victorious that it tries 
To scare me through a shepherd's eyes? 
What ! is't so mighty? Does it gain 
Its potency through human pain? 
Hence, hindering fancies ! Feet, begone ! 
Pursue me not, Endymion ! 

My strength dissolves like morning dew ; 
His eyes' magnetic lightnings through 
The night draw swift. From rift to rift 
Of clouds, a shining shape, I drift, 
And touch bald Latmos' peak upon. 
Beside thee, O Endymion ! 
I yield me to thy grief's demand, 
I feel the clasp of mortal hand. 

I know the thrill of heart to heart, • — 

No more as world and world apart 

In orbits separate to move ; 

For heaven and earth are fused by love. 

Has Dian stooped, by this one kiss, 

To forfeit all her goddess-bliss ? 

O Wind, that sighs this hill upon, — 

Endymion, Endymion, — 

Make answer : *' Never so before. 

Immortal now forevermore ! " 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 41 

Shelley's poem on "The Cloud" gives a very pretty 
fancy concerning this myth. 

" That orbed maiden with white fire laden 

Whom mortals call the moon, 
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor 

By the midnight breezes strewn ; 
And, whenever the beat of her unseen feet, 

Which only the angels hear, 
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof. 

The stars peep behind her and peer. 
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee 

Like a swarm of golden bees, 
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 

Till the calm river, lakes, and seas. 
Like strips of sky fallen through me on high 

Are each paved with the moon and these. 
I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone. 

And the moon's with a girdle of pearl." 

Not only have these myths of the sun, moon, and 
stars furnished inspiration and matter to poets of every 
age and country, but artists have painted them on can- 
vas and sculptors have carved them in stone. Every 
museum in Europe counts among its choicest treasures 
of painting and sculpture, the various reproductions of 
these classic mythological stories treated according to 
the genius of its own artists, or rescued from the past 
by archaeologists, who find in these old statues the 
means of completing many pages of history that would 
otherwise never be written. 

One of the most famous pictures in Rome is Guido 
Reni's ''Aurora." By means of prints and photographs 



42 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

it has been copied so often, and circulated so widely, 
that it is familiar to thousands who would never be 
likely to see the original. The artistic perfection of 
this picture, seen even in a photograph, makes it a val- 
uable study to students of literature. A description of 
a picture can give but a faint idea of its merit, but I 
will venture a few words about this one. 

The artist represents the sun-god seated in his golden 
chariot drawn by four magnificent horses. He holds 
the reins lightly in one hand like a practised driver, 
though the horses are going at full speed over the 
roadway of cloud. The chariot is surrounded by seven 
noble female figures called Horae, the hours, who seem 
to be dancing around it. Lucifer (the light-bringer, or 
the morning star) flies before the chariot holding his 
torch high above his head. Aurora, the dawn-goddess, 
in lovely floating garments, precedes her brother and 
son. She looks back as if to assure them that they 
have nothing to fear as long as she is there to strew 
their pathway with the garlands of flowers that she 
holds in her hands. 

Just below the clouds on which she floats, we catch a 
glimpse of the blue Mediterranean with two or three 
white-winged sail-boats that have just left its shores. 
But no words can convey an idea of the beauty of color 
with which the artist has glorified the whole picture. 
Neither is a print or a photograph, lacking color, more 
than a shadow of the original ; but it gives the thought 
that was in the mind of the artist, and the source 
whence it sprung. 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 43 

CERES, LaL; DEMETER, Gr. 

Demeter was a daughter of Chronos and Rhea. She 
was the goddess of agriculture, and represented that 
portion of the earth which produces all vegetation. 
She was regarded as the patroness of all those arts 
which are connected with agriculture. 

The favor of Demeter was believed to bring mankind 
rich harvests and fruitful crops, whereas her displeas- 
ure caused blight, drought, and famine. The island of 
Sicily was supposed to be under her special protection, 
and there she was regarded with particular veneration, 
the Sicilians naturally attributing the wonderful fertility 
of their country to the partiality of the goddess. 

The most celebrated legend told about Demeter is 
the story of the loss of her daughter, Persephone (Pro- 
ser'pina or Pros'erpine). The latter was once playing 
with the daughters of Oceanus in a meadow, where they 
were picking flowers and making garlands. Persephone 
happened to leave her companions for a moment to 
pluck a narcissus (daffodil), when suddenly the ground 
opened at her feet, and Pluto appeared in a chariot. 
He seized and carried off the maiden. All this occurred 
with the knowledge of her father, Zeus, who had, un- 
known to Demeter, promised Persephone to Pluto. 

When Demeter missed her darling child, and none 
could tell her where she had gone, she lighted torches, 
and during many days and nights wandered over all the 
earth, not even resting for food or sleep. 

At length Apollo told Demeter what had happened. 



44 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

and that it was with the consent of Zeus. Full of 
wrath and grief, the goddess withdrew from the society 
of the other deities. All the fruits of the earth ceased, 
and a general famine threatened to destroy the human 
race. In vain Zeus sent one messenger after another, 
beseeching the angry goddess to return to Olympus. 
Demeter vowed that she would neither return nor allow 
the fruits of the earth to grow until her daughter was 
restored to her. At length Zeus sent Hermes with a 
petition to Pluto to restore Persephone to her mother. 
He consented, and she joyfully prepared to follow the 
messenger of the gods to light and life. Before taking 
leave of her husband, he presented to her a few seeds 
of a pomegranate, which in her excitement she thought- 
lessly swallowed. As it was a rule that if any immor- 
tal had tasted food in the realms of Pluto, he must re- 
main there forever, the hopes of the goddesses were 
disappointed, but Zeus finally induced Pluto to allow 
Persephone to spend six months of the year with her 
mother, while during the other six months she was to 
be the companion of her grim lord. Every year at 
springtide she ascends from her underground kingdom 
to enjoy herself in her mother's company, but returns 
again in autumn to the regions of darkness and death. 
Many other stories are told of Demeter*; of the tem- 
ples that were built in her honor ; of the worship paid 
to her; and of the punishment she inflicted on those 
who displeased her. These stories are older than the 
time of Homer ; for one of the short poems, said to 
have been written by him, is called a hymn to Ceres 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 45 

(Demeter). Modern poets have told this old story beau- 
tifully, as we shall see in Jean Ingelow's " Persephone ; " 
but our own Hawthorne's prose story, called ''The 
Pomegranate Seeds," is perhaps the most pleasing ver- 
sion of it to be found in English literature. 

A HYMN TO CERES. 

Homer. 

In Nysia's vale, with nymphs a lovely train 

Sprung from the hoary father of the main, 

Fair Proserpine consumed the fleeting hours 

In pleasing sports and plucking gaudy flowers. 

Around them wide and flaming crocus glows, 

Through leaves of verdure blooms the opening rose ; 

The hyacinth declines his fragrant head, 

And purple violets deck the enamell'd mead ; 

The fair Narcissus, far above the rest, 

By magic formed, in beauty rose confest, 

So Jove to insure the virgin's thoughtless mind, 

And please the Ruler of the Shades designed. 

He caus'd it from the opening earth to rise. 

Sweet to the scent, alluring to the eyes. 

Never did mortal or celestial power 

Behold such vivid tints adorn a flower ; 

From the deep root a hundred branches sprung, 

And to the winds ambrosial odours flung, 

Which lightly wafted on the wings of air 

The gladden'd earth and heaven's wide circuit share ; 

The joy-dispensing fragrance spreads around, 

And Ocean's briny swell with smiles is crowned. 

Pleased with the sight, nor deeming danger nigh, 
The fair beheld it with desiring eye ; 



46 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Her eager hand she stretched to seize the flower, 
(Beauteous illusion of the ethereal power) 
When, dreadful to behold ! the rocking ground 
Disparted — widely yawned a gulf profound ! 
Forth rushing from the black abyss arose 
The gloomy monarch of the realm of woes, 
Pluto, from Saturn sprung ; — the trembUng maid 
He seized, and to his golden car conveyed ; 
Borne by immortal steeds the chariot flies. 



PROSERPINE, Lat.; PERSEPHONE, Gr. 

Jean Ingelow. 

She stepped upon Sicilian grass, 
Demeter's daughter fresh and fair, 

A child of light, a radiant lass. 

And gamesome as the morning air. 

The daffodils were fair to see. 

They nodded lightly on the lea, 
Persephone — Persephone ! 

Lo ! one she marked of rarer growth 

Than orchis or anemone ; 
For it the maiden left them both 

And parted from her company. 
Drawn nigh she deemed it fairer still, 
And stooped to gather by the rill 

The dafl"odil, the dafl'odil. 

What ailed the meadow that it shook? 

What ailed the air of Sicily? 
She wondered by the brattling brook, 

And trembled with the trembling lea. 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS- 47 

" The coal-black horses rise — they rise ; 
O mother, mother ! " low she cries — 
Persephone — Persephone ! 

" O light, hght, Hght ! " she cries, " farewell ; 

The coal-black horses wait for me. 
O shade of shades, where I must dwell, 

Demeter, mother, far from thee ! 
Ah, fated doom that I fulfil ! 
Ah, fateful flower beside the rill ! 

The daffodil, the daffodil ! " 

What ails her that she comes not home ? 

Demeter seeks her far and wide. 
And gloomy-browed doth ceaseless roam 

From many a morn till eventide. 
" My life, immortal though it be. 
Is nought," she cries, " for want of thee, 

Persephone — Persephone ! 

" Meadows of Enna, let the rain 

No longer drop to feed your rills. 
Nor dew refresh the fields again. 

With all their nodding daffodils ! 
Fade, fade, and droop, O lihed lea. 
Where thou, dear heart, were reft from me — 

Persephone — Persephone ! " 



She reigns upon her dusky throne. 
Mid shades of heroes dread to see ; 

Among the dead she breathes alone, 
Persephone — Persephone ! 

Or, seated on the Elysian hill. 

She dreams of earthly dayhght still, 
And murmurs of the daffodil. 



48 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

A voice in Hades soundeth clear, 
The shadows mourn and flit below ; 

It cries — " Thou Lord of Hades, hear, 
And let Demeter's daughter go. 

The tender corn upon the lea 

Droops in her goddess gloom when she 
Cries for her lost Persephone. 

^' From land to land she raging flies. 

The green fruit falleth in her wake, 
And harvest fields beneath her eyes 

To earth the grain unripened shake. 
Arise and set the maiden free ; 
Why should the world such sorrow dree 

By reason of Persephone ? " 

He takes the cleft pomegranate seeds : 
'■'■ Love, eat with me this parting day " ; 

Then bids them fetch the coal-black steeds — 
"Demeter's daughter, wouldst away?" 

The gates of Hades set her free ; 

"She will return full soon," saith he — 
" My wife, my wife Persephone." 

Low laughs the dark king on his throne — 
" I gave her of pomegranate seeds." 

Demeter's daughter stands alone 
Upon the fair Eleusian meads. 

Her mother meets her. " Hail ! " saith she ; 

And doth our daylight dazzle thee. 
My love, my child Persephone ? 

" What moved thee, daughter, to forsake 
Thy fellow-maids that fatal morn. 

And give thy dark lord power to take 
Thee living to his realm forlorn? " 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 49 

Her lips reply without her will, 
As one addressed who slumbereth still — 
"The daffodil, the daffodil ! " 

Her eyelids droop with light oppressed, 

And sunny wafts that round her stir, 
Her cheek upon her mother's breast — 

Demeter's kisses comfort her. 
Calm Queen of Hades, art thou she 
Who stepped so lightly on the lea — 

Persephone, Persephone? 

When in her destined course, the moon 

Meets the deep shadow of this world. 
And laboring on doth seem to swoon 

Through awful wastes of dimness whirled — 
Emerged at length, no trace hath she 
Of that dark hour of destiny. 

Still silvery sweet — Persephone. 

The greater world may near the less. 

And draw it through her weltering shade. 

But not one biding trace impress 
Of all the darkness that she made ; 

The greater soul that draweth thee 

Hath left his shadow plain to see 
On thy fair face, Persephone ! 

Demeter sighs, but sure 'tis well 

The wife should love her destiny : 
They part, and yet, as legends tell, 

She mourns her lost Persephone ; 
While chant the maids of Enna still — 
" O fateful flower beside the rill — 

The daffodil, the daffodil ! " 

***** ^ 

E 



50 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Among the later poems of Tennyson we find this 
story, told by Demeter herself. 

Compare the preceding narrative form with the monologue. 



DEMETER AND PERSEPHONE. 
(In Enna.) 

Tennyson. 

Faint as a climate-changing bird that flies 

All night across the darkness and at dawn 

Falls on the threshold of her native land, 

And can no more, thou camest, O my child, 

Led upward by the god of ghosts and dreams, 

Who laid thee at Eleusis, dazed and dumb 

With passing through at once from state to state, 

Until I brought thee hither, that the day. 

When here thy hands let fall the gather'd flower. 

Might break thro' clouded memories once again 

On thy lost self. A sudden nightingale 

Saw thee and flash'd into a frolic of song 

And welcome ; and a gleam as of the moon, 

When first she peers along the tremulous deep, 

Fled wavering o'er thy face, and chased away 

That shadow of a likeness to the king 

Of shadows, thy dark mate. Persephone ! 

Queen of the dead no more — my child ! Thine eyes 

Again were human-godhke, and the Sun 

Burst from a swimming fleece of winter gray 

And robed thee in his day from head to feet — 

" Mother ! " and I was folded in thine arms. 

Child, those imperial, disimpassion'd eyes 
Awed even me at first, thy mother — eyes 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 51 

That oft had seen the serpent-wanded power 

Draw downward into Hades with his drift 

Of flickering spectres, lighted from below 

By the red race of fiery Phleg'ethon ; 

But when before have gods or men beheld 

The hfe that had descended re-arise, 

And lighted from above him by the Sun? 

So mighty was the mother's childless cry, 

A cry that rang through Hades, Earth, and Heaven ! 

So in this pleasant vale we stand again. 

The field of Enna, now once more ablaze 

With flowers that brighten as thy footstep falls. 

All flowers — but for one black blur of earth 

Left by that closing chasm thro' which the car 

Of dark Aidoneus rising rapt thee hence. 

And here, my child, though folded in thine arms, 

I feel the deathless heart of motherhood 

Within me shudder, lest the naked glebe 

Should yawn once more into the gulf, and thence 

The shrilly whinneyings of the team of Hell 

Ascending, pierce the glad and songful air, 

And all at once their arch'd necks, midnight-maned, 

Jet upward thro' the midday blossom. No ! 

For, see, thy foot hath touch'd it ; all the space 

Of blank earth-baldness clothes itself afresh. 

And breaks into the crocus-purple hour 

That saw thee vanish. 

Child, when thou wert gone, 
I envied human wives, and nested birds. 
Yea, the cubb'd lioness ; went in search of thee 
Thro' many a palace, many a cot ; and forth again 
Among the wail of midnight winds, and cried, 
" Where is my loved one ? Wherefore do ye wail? " 



52 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

And out from all the night an answer shriU'd, 

" We know not, and we know not why we wail." 

I climbed on all the cliffs of all the seas, 

And ask'd the waves that moan about the world, 

" Where? do ye make your moanings for my child ? " 

And round from all the world the answer came, 

" We know not, and we know not why we moan." 

"Where? " and I stared from every eagle-peak, 

I thridded the black heart of all the woods, 

I peer'd thro' tomb and cave, and in the storms 

Of Autumn swept across the city, and heard 

The murmur of their temples chanting me, 

Me, me, the desolate Mother ! •' Where? " — and turn'd. 

And fled by many a waste, forlorn of man, 

And grieved for man thro' all my grief for thee, — 

The jungle rooted in his shatter'd hearth. 

The serpent coil'd about his broken shaft, 

The scorpion crawling over naked skulls ; — 

I saw the tiger in the ruin'd fane 

Spring from his fallen god, but trace of thee 

I saw not ; and far on, and following out 

A league of labyrinthine darkness, came 

On three gray heads beneath a gleaming rift. 

" Where? " and I heard one voice from all the three, 

" We know not, for we spin the lives of men, 

And not of gods, and know not why we spin ! 

There is a Fate beyond us." Nothing knew. 

Last, as the hkeness of a dying man. 
Without his knowledge, from him flits to warn 
A far-off friendship that he comes no more, 
So he, the god of dreams, who heard my cry. 
Drew from thyself the likeness of thyself 
Without thy knowledge, and thy shadow past 



SOME SELF-EVIDENT NATURE MYTHS. 53 

Before me, crying, ^' The Bright one in the highest 

Is brother of the Dark one in the lowest, 

And Bright and Dark have sworn that I, the child 

Of thee, the great Earth-Mother, thee, the Power 

That lifts her buried hfe from gloom to bloom, 

Should be forever and forevermore 

The Bride of Darkness." 

So the Shadow wailed. 
Then I, Earth-Goddess, cursed the gods of Heaven. 
I would not mingle with their feasts ; to me 
Their nectar smack'd of hemlock on the lips, 
Their rich ambrosia tasted aconite. 
The man that only lives and loves an hour, 
Seem'd nobler than their hard Eternities. 
My quick tears kill'd the flower, my ravings hush'd 
The bird, and lost in utter grief I fail'd 
To send my life thro' olive-yard and vine 
And golden grain, my gift to helpless man. 
Rain-rotten died the wheat, the barley-spears 
Were hollow-husk'd, the leaf fell, and the sun, 
Pale at my grief, drew down before his time 
Sickening, and ^tna kept her winter snow. 

Then He, the brother of this Darkness, He 
Who still is highest, glancing from his height 
On earth a fruitless fallow, when he miss'd 
The wonted stream of sacrifice, the praise 
And prayer of men, decreed that thou shouldst dwell 
For nine white moons of each whole year with me, 
The dark ones in the shadow with thy King. 

Once more the reaper in the gleam of dawn 
Will see me by the landmark far away, 
Blessing his field, or seated in the dusk 
Of even, by the lonely threshing-floor, 



54 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Rejoicing in the harvest and the grange. 

Yet I, Earth-Goddess, am but ill-content 

With them, who still are highest. Those gray heads, 

What meant they by their " Fate beyond the Fates," 

But younger, kindlier gods to bear us down. 

As we bore down the gods before us? Gods 

To quench, not hurl the thunderbolt, to stay, 

Not spread the plague, the famine ; gods indeed, 

To send the noon into the night and break 

The sunless halls of Hades into Heaven? 

Till thy dark lord accept and love the Sun 

And all the Shadow die into the Light, 

When thou shalt dwell the whole bright year with me 

And souls of men who grew beyond their race, 

And made themselves as gods against the fear 

Of Death and Hell ; and thou that hast from men. 

As Queen of Death, that worship v/hich is Fear, 

Henceforth, as having risen from out the dead, 

Shalt ever send thy life along with mine 

From buried grain thro' springing blade and bless 

Their garner'd Autumn also, reap with me, 

Earth-Mother, in the harvest hymns of Earth 

The worship which is Love, and see no more 

The Stone, the Wheel, the dimly-glimmering lawns 

Of that Elysium, all the hateful fires 

Of torment, and the shadowy warrior glide 

Along the silent field of Asphodel. 

We find, in the five subjects forming this group of 
studies, some of the self-evident nature myths. 

Compare our scientific way of speaking about the night, the morning, 
the sun, the moon, the change of seasons, with the treatment these subjects 
have received from poets and artists. 



GROUP II. 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 
SATURN, Lat; CHRONOS, Gr. 

Hyperi'on and Thea were two of the twelve Titans, 
and they were the parents of the Sun, the Moon, and 
the Dawn. But the most important of all the Titans 
were Saturn and Rhea. Their children were three 
sons, Jupiter, Pluto, and Neptune; three daughters, 
Juno, Ceres, and Vesta. 

When Jupiter grew up he made war upon his father, 
in fulfilment of an old prophecy. The war lasted ten 
years, resulting in victory for Jupiter. Saturn and his 
army were completely overthrown, his brothers de- 
spatched to the gloomy depths of the lower world, 
and Saturn himself was deprived of the supreme power 
which was now vested in his son Jupiter, and he was 
banished from his kingdom. 

The Romans believed that, after his defeat and ban- 
ishment, Saturn took refuge with Ja'nus, king of Italy, 
who received the exiled deity with great kindness, and 
even shared his throne with him. Their united reign 
became so thoroughly peaceful and happy, and was 
distinguished by such uninterrupted prosperity that it 

55 



56 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

was called the '' Golden Age," which is so frequently 
referred to by the poets. The Roman festival in his 
honor was called Saturnalia, and was devoted to free- 
dom, mirth, and hospitality. 

In the following poem Keats represents Saturn 
(Chronos), just after his defeat: — 

SATURN AND THEA. 

From " Hyperion." — Keats. 

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale 

Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, 

Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star, 

Sat gray-haired Saturn, quiet as a stone, 

Still as the silence round about his lair ; 

Forest on forest hung about his head 

Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there. 

Not so much Hfe as on a summer's day 

Robs one light seed from the feathered grass, 

But where the leaf fell, there did it rest. 

A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more 

By reason of his fallen divinity. 

Spreading a shade : the Naiad 'mid her reeds 

Pressed her cold finger closer to her lips. 

Along the margin sand large footmarks went 
No further than to where his feet had strayed, 
And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground 
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, 
Unsceptered, and his realmless eyes were closed ; 
While his bowed head seemed Hstening to the earth. 
His ancient mother, for some comfort yet. 

It seemed no force could wake him from his place ; 
But there came one who, with a kindred hand, 
Touched his wide shoulders, after bending low 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 57 

With reverence, though to one who knew it not. 

She was a goddess of the infant world ; 

By her in stature the tall Amazon 

Had stood a pigmy's height : she would have ta'en 

Achilles by the hair, and bent his neck, 

Or with a finger stayed Ixion's wheel. 

Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx, 

Pedestaled haply in a palace court. 

When sages looked to Egypt for their lore. 

But oh ! how unlike marble was that face ! 

How beautiful, if sorrow had not made 

Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self ! 

There was a Hstening fear in her regard. 

As if calamity had but begun ; 

As if the vanward clouds of evil days 

Had spent their malice, and the sullen roar 

Was, with its stored thunder, laboring up. 

One hand she pressed upon that aching spot 

Where beats the human heart, as if just there, 

Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain ; 

The other upon Saturn's bended neck 

She laid, and to the level of his ear 

Leaning with parted hps, some words she spake 

In solemn tenor and deep organ tone ; 

Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue 

Would come in these Hke accents — O, how frail. 

To that large utterance of the early gods ! — 

" Saturn, look up ! though wherefore, poor old king? 

I cannot say, ' O wherefore sleepest thou ? ' 

For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth 

Knows thee not thus afflicted for a god ; 

And ocean, too, with all its solemn noise. 

Has from thy scepter passed, and all the air 

Is emptied of thy hoary majesty. 

Thy thunder, conscious of the new command, 



58 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Rumbles reluctant o'er the fallen house ; 
And thy sharp lightning in unpracticed hands 
Scorches and burns our once serene domain. 
O, aching time ! O, moments big as years ! 
All, as ye pass, swell out the monstrous truth; 
And press it so upon our weary griefs 
That unbelief has not a space to breathe. 
Saturn, sleep on ! O, thoughtless why did I 
Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude ? 
Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes ? 
Saturn, sleep on ! while at thy feet I weep." 

As when, upon a tranced summer night. 
Those green-robed senators of mighty woods, 
Tall oaks, branch- charmed by the earnest stars, 
Dream, and so dream all night without a stir, 
Save from one gradual solitary gust 
Which comes upon the silence, and dies off. 
As if the ebbing air had but one wave ; 
So came these words and went. 

******* 

Among the Romans the seventh day of the week was 
sacred to Saturn, hence our name for that day, Satttr- 
day. Raphael's picture represents him with a scythe in 
his hand, seated in a chariot drawn by winged dragons, 
personifying the flight of Time. 

THE BATTLE BETWEEN THE GODS AND THE GIANTS. 

The battle-field of this contest was in Phleg'ra in 
Macedonia. 

The fight lasted for a whole day, for the giants were 
very strong ; but at last the gods gained the victory, and 
they crushed each of the giants beneath a huge moun- 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 59 

tain, which did not kill him but prevented his ever 
getting up again. 

The most powerful of the giants that conspired 
against Jupiter was Enceladus. He tried to escape 
over the Mediterranean Sea, but the goddess Athene 
(Minerva), who was the daughter of Jupiter, tore off a 
great three-cornered piece of land and threw it after him. 
It hit him just as he was in the middle of the sea, and 
he fell down and was buried beneath it. After some 
time the land became covered with forests and cities, 
and it is now called the island of Sicily. Mount Etna 
marks the spot where the giant has lain ever since. 

The poets say that the flames of this volcano arise 
from the breath of the giant, and whenever he turns on 
one side beneath the mountain, the people say, *' It is 
an earthquake." 

Longfellow, in his poem, •* King Robert of Sicily," 
says : — 

" Under the angel's government benign 
The happy island danced with corn and wine, 
And deep within the mountain's burning breast 
Enceladus, the giant, was at rest." 

In the following poem he, gives the popular legend : — 

ENCELADUS. 

Longfellow. 

Under Mount Etna he lies, 

It is slumber, it is not death ; 
For he struggles at times to arise. 
And above him the lurid skies 

Are hot with his fiery breath. 



60 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

The crags are piled on his breast, 

The earth is heaped on his head, 
But the groans of his wild unrest, 
Though smothered and half-suppressed. 
Are heard, and he is not dead. 

And the nations far away 

Are watching with eager eyes ; 

They talk together and say, 

*' To-morrow, perhaps to-day, 
Enceladus will arise ! " 

And the old gods, the austere 

Oppressors in their strength. 
Stand aghast and white with fear 
At the ominous sounds they hear. 

And tremble, and mutter, ^' At length ! " 

Ah me ! for the land that is sown 

With the harvest of despair ! 
Where the burning cinders, blown 
From the lips of the overthrown 

Enceladus, fill the air. 

Where ashes are heaped in drifts 

Over vineyard and field and town. 
Whenever he starts and lifts 
His head through the blackened rifts 
Of the crags that keep him down. 

See, see ! the red light shines ! 

'Tis the glare of his awful eyes ! 
And the storm-winds shout through the pines 
Of Alps and Apennines, 

" Enceladus, arise ! " 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 61 

THE MYTH OF PROMETHEUS. 

Prometheus, son of the Titan, Japetus, was said to 
have made men of clay and water, after which Athene 
breathed a soul into them. The gods then held a 
meeting in order to adjust the duties and privileges of 
men. It was decided that Prometheus, as the advocate 
of man, should slay an ox and divide it into two parts, 
and that the gods should select one portion which in 
all future sacrifices should be set apart for them. In 
order to secure for man the portion suitable to be eaten, 
Prometheus wrapped the flesh in the skin, and the 
bones in the white fat. The animal thus divided was 
placed before Zeus that he might choose on the part of 
the gods. He pretended to be deceived, and chose the 
heap of bones, but he was so angry at the attempted 
deception that he avenged himself by refusing to mor- 
tals the gift of fire. 

Prometheus, however, resolved to brave the anger of 
the ruler of Olympus. He stole some sparks from the 
chariot of the Sun, and conveyed them to the earth 
hidden in a hollow tube. Furious at having been out- 
witted, Zeus determined to be revenged, first on man- 
kind, and then on Prometheus. 

He had Prometheus chained to a rock on Mount 
Caucasus, where during the daytime a vulture devoured 
his liver, which grew again during the night. 

After thirteen generations had passed away, Heracles 
(Hercules) was permitted to kill the eagle, and Prome- 
theus was released. 



62 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

iEschylus (480 B.C.) was the first poet who gave this 
story literary form. The subject must have been a 
fascinating one to him, and popular with the theatre- 
goers of his time in Athens, for he wrote three dramas, 
describing the worship, the punishment, and the release 
of Prometheus : — *' Prometheus, the Fire-giver," " Pro- 
metheus Bound," and '' Prometheus Unbound." 



PROMETHEUS BOUND. 

iEsCHYLUS. 

Prometheus explains the causes that led to his pun- 
ishment by Zeus. 

The Chorus ask him to tell them all the tale, 

" For what offence Zeus, having seized thee thus, 
So wantonly and bitterly insults thee?" 

Prometheus replies : — 

Painful are these things to me e'en to speak : 

Painful is silence ; everywhere is woe. 

For when the high gods fell on mood of wrath, 

And hot debate of mutual strife was stirred. 

Some wishing to hurl Chronos from his throne, 

That Zeus forsooth might reign ; while others strove. 

Eager that Zeus might never rule the gods : 

Then I, full strongly seeking to persuade 

The Titans, yea, the sons of Heaven and Earth, 

Failed of my purpose. Scorning subtle arts. 

With counsels violent, they thought that they 

By force would gain full easy mastery. 

But then not once or twice my mother Themis 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 63 

And Earth, one form though bearing many names, 

Had prophesied the future, how 'twould run, 

That not by strength nor yet by violence, 

But guile, should those who prospered gain the day. 

And when in my words I this counsel gave, 

They deigned not e'en to glance at it at all. 

And then of all that offered, it seemed best 

To join my mother, and of mine own will. 

Not against his will, take my side with Zeus, 

And by my counsels, mine, the deep dark pit 

Of Tartarus the ancient Chronos holds, 

Himself and his allies. Thus profiting 

By me, the mighty ruler of the gods 

Repays me with these evil penalties : 

For somehow this disease in sovereignty 

Inheres, of never trusting to one's friends. 

And since ye ask me under what pretence 

He thus maltreats me, I will show it you : 

For soon as he upon his father's throne 

Had sat secure, forthwith to divers gods 

He divers gifts distributed, and his realm 

Began to order. But of mortal men 

He took no heed, but purposed utterly 

To crush their race and plant another new ; 

And, I excepted, none dared cross his will ; 

But I did dare, and mortal men I freed 

From passing on to Hades thunder-stricken \ 

And therefore am I bound beneath these woes. 

Dreadful to suffer, pitiable to see : 

And I, who in my pity thought of men 

More than myself, have not been worthy deemed 

To gain like favor, but all ruthlessly 

I thus am chained, foul shame this sight to Zeus. 



64 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

The Chorus sympathize with Prometheus, and then 
Okeanos enters and declares that none more friendly 
than he can be found. He wishes to help Prometheus, 
and thinks that Zeus will grant him the boon that he 
intends to ask, the freedom of Prometheus. The latter 
assures him that his efforts will be useless. (The 
Chorus again sings, both strophe and antistrophe, ex- 
pressing grief for his suffering.) Prometheus again 
speaks: — 

Think not it is through pride or stiff self-will 

That I am silent. But my heart is worn, 

Self-contemplating as I see myself 

Thus outraged. Yet what other hand than mine 

Gave these young gods in fulness all their gifts? 

But these I speak not of; for I should tell 

To you that know them. But those woes of men, 

List ye to them, — how they, before as babes, 

By me were roused to reason, taught to think ; 

And this I say not finding fault with men. 

But showing my good will in all I gave. 

For first, though seeing, all in vain they saw, 

And hearing, heard not rightly. But, like forms 

Of phantom-dreams, throughout their life's whole length 

They muddled all at random ; did not know 

Houses of brick that catch the sunlight's warmth, 

Nor yet the work of carpentry. They dwelt 

In hollowed holes, like swarms of tiny ants, 

In sunless depths of caverns ; and they had 

No certain signs of winter, nor of spring 

Flower-laden, nor of summer with her fruits ; 

But without counsel fared their whole Hfe through 

Until I showed the risings of the stars. 

And settings hard to recognize. And I 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 65 

Found Number for them, chief device of all, 
Groupings of letters, Memory, handmaid true 
And mother of the Muses. And I first 
Bound in the yoke wild steeds, submissive made 
Or to the collar or men's hmbs, that so 
They might in man's place bear his greatest toils ,• 
And horses trained to love the rein I yoked 
To chariots, glory of wealth's pride of state ; 
Nor was it any one but I that found 
Sea-crossing, canvas-winged cars of ships 
Such rare designs inventing (wretched me !) 
For mortal men, I yet have no device 
By which to free myself from this my woe. 



Hearing what yet remains thou'lt wonder more 

What arts and what resources I devised : 

x'\nd this the chief: if any one fell ill. 

There was no help for him, nor healing food. 

Nor unguent, nor yet potion ; but for want 

Of drugs they wasted, till I showed to them 

The blendings of mild medicaments, 

Wherewith they ward the attacks of sickness sore. 

I gave them many modes of prophecy ; 

And I first taught them what dreams needs must prove 

True visions, and made known the ominous sounds 

Full hard to know ; and tokens by the way, 

And flights of taloned birds I clearly marked, — 

Those on the right propitious to mankind. 

And those sinister, — and what forms of life 

They each maintain, and what their enmities 

Each with the other, and their loves and friendships ; 

And with burnt limbs enwrapt in fat, and chine, 

I led men on to art full difficult : 



66 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

And I gave eyes to omens drawn from fire, 
Till then dim-visioned. So far then for this. 
And 'neath the earth the hidden boons for men, 
Bronze, iron, silver, gold, who else could say 
That he, ere I did, found them? None, I know, 
Unless he fain would babble idle words. 
In one short word, then, learn the truth condensed, — 
All arts of mortals from Prometheus spring. 
******** 
Compare this drama with that on the same subject by Mrs. Browning, 
written more than two thousand years later. 

The following selection describes the same scene. 



PROMETHEUS BOUND. 

Mrs. Browning. 

Chonis. Remove the veil from all things and relate 
The story to us ! — of what crime accused 
Zeus smites thee with dishonorable pangs. 
Speak ! if to teach us do not grieve thyself. 

Prometheus. The utterance of these things is torture to me, 
But so, too, is their silence ! each way lies 
Woe strong as fate ! When gods began with wrath. 
And war rose up between their starry brows. 
Some choosing to cast Chronos from his throne 
That Zeus might king it there ; and some in haste 
With opposite oaths that they would have no Zeus 
To rule the gods forever, — I who brought 
The counsel I thought meetest, could not move 
The Titans, children of the Heaven and Earth, 
What time disdaining in their rugged souls 
My subtle machinations, they assumed 
It was an easy thing for force to take 
The mastery of fate. My mother, then, 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 67 

Who is called not only Themis but Earth, too, 

(Her single beauty joys in many names) 

Did teach me with reiterant prophecy 

What future should be, — and how conquering gods 

Should not prevail by strength and violence, 

But by guile only. When I told them so 

They would not deign to contemplate the truth 

On all sides round ; whereat I deemed it best 

To lead my wilHng mother upwardly, 

And set my Themis face to face with Zeus 

As willing to receive her ! Tartarus 

With its abysmal cloister of the Dark, 

Because I gave that counsel, covers up 

The antique Chronos and his siding hosts ; 

And by that counsel helped, the king of gods 

Hath recompensed me with these bitter pangs ! 

For kingship wears a cancer at the heart, — 

Distrust in friendship. Do ye also ask. 

What crime it is for which he tortures me ? 

That shall be clear before you. When at first 

He filled his father's throne, he instantly 

Made various gifts of glory to the gods, 

And dealt the Empire out. Alone of men, 

Of miserable men he took no count. 

But yearned to sweep their track off" from the world, 

And plant a newer race there. Not a god 

Resisted such desire except myself ! 

/ dared it ! / drew mortals back to light, 

From meditated ruin deep as hell. 

For which wrong I am bent down in these pangs 

Dreadful to suffer, mournful to behold, — 

And I, who pitied man, am thought myself 

Unworthy of pity, — while I render out 

Deep rhythms of anguish 'neath the harping hand 

That strikes me thus ! — a sight to shame your Zeus. 



68 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IJTERATURE. 

After the visit of Okeanos and the song of the 
Chorus, Prometheus continues the story of his efforts to 
benefit mankind, and his consequent sufferings : — 

Prometheus, Beseech you, think not I am silent thus 
Through pride or scorn ! I only gnaw my heart 
With meditation, seeing myself so wronged. 
For so — their honors to these new-made gods, 
What other gave but I, and dealt them out 
With distribution ? Ay — but here I am dumb ; 
For here, I should repeat your knowledge to you, 
If I spake aught. List rather to the deeds 
I did for mortals — how, being fools before, 
I made them wise and true in aim of souL 
And let me tell you — not as taunting men, 
But teaching you the intention of my gifts ; 
How, first beholding, they beheld in vain. 
And hearing, heard not, but like shapes in dreams, 
Mixed all things wildly down the tedious time, 
Nor knew to build a house against the sun 
With wicketed sides, nor any wood- craft knew, 
But lived, like silly ants, beneath the ground 
In hollow caves unsunned. There came to them 
No steadfast sign of winter, nor of spring 
Flower-perfumed, nor of summer full of fruit, 
But blindly and lawlessly they did all things. 
Until I taught them how the stars do rise 
And set in mystery ; and devised for them 
Number, the inducer of philosophies. 
The synthesis of Letters, and, beside. 
The artificer of all things, Memory, 
That sweet Muse-mother. I was first to yoke 
The servile beasts in couples, carrying 
An heirloom of man's burdens on their backs ! 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 69 

I joined to chariots, steeds that love the bit 
They champ at — the chief pomp of golden ease, 
And none but I originated ships. 
The seaman's chariots, wandering on the brine 
With hnen wings ! And I — oh, miserable ! — 
Who did desire for mortals all these arts, 
Have no device left now to save myself 
From the woe I suffer. 

Chorus. Most unseemly woe 

Thou sufferest, and dost stagger from the sense 
Bewildered ! Like a bad leech falling sick 
Thou art faint at soul, and canst not find the drugs 
Required to save thyself. 

Pi'ometheiis. Harken the rest. 

And marvel further — what more arts and means 
I did invent — this greatest ! if a man 
Fell sick there was no cure, nor esculent, 
Nor chrism, nor hquid, but for lack of drugs 
Men pined and wasted, till I showed them all 
Those mixtures of emollient remedies 
Whereby they might be rescued from disease. 
I fixed the various rules of mantic ^ art. 
Discerned the vision from the common dream, 
Instructed them in vocal auguries 
Hard to interpret, and defined as plain 
The wayside omens — flights of crook-clawed birds, — 
Showed which are, by their nature, fortunate, 
And which not so, and what the food of each. 
And what the hates, affections, social needs. 
Of all to one another, — taught what sign 
Of visceral lightness, colored to a shade, 
May charm the genial gods, and what fair spots 
Commend the lung and liver. Burning so 

1 Mantic, used by poetic license, means the necromancer's art, or 
divination. 



70 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

The limbs encased in fat, and the long chine, 
I led my mortals on to an art abstruse, 
And cleared their eyes to the image in the fire, 
Erst filmed in dark. Enough said now of this. 
For the other helps of man hid underground — 
The iron and the brass, silver and gold. 
Can any dare affirm he found them out 
Before me ? None, I know ! unless he choose 
To lie in his vaunt. In one word learn the whole, 
That all arts came to mortals from Prometheus. 



Compare the two following monologues and their authors. 

PROMETHEUS. 

» James Russell Lowell. 

One after one the stars have risen and set, 
Sparkhng upon the hoar-frost on my chain : 
The Bear that prowled all night about the fold 
Of the North-star hath shrunk into his den. 
Scared by the blithesome footsteps of the Dawn, 
Whose blushing smile floods all the Orient ; 
And now bright Lucifer grows less and less, 
Into the heaven's blue quiet deep withdrawn. 
Sunless and starless all, the desert sky 
Arches above me, empty as this heart 
For ages hath been empty of all joy, 
Except to brood upon its silent hope. 
As o'er its hope of day the sky doth now. 

All night have I heard voices : deeper yet 
The deep low breathing of the silence grew. 
While all about, muffled in awe, there stood 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 71 

Shadows, or forms, or both, clear-felt at heart, 
But, when I turned to front them, far along 
Only a shudder through the midnight ran. 
And the dense stillness walled me closer round. 

But still I heard them wander up and down 
That sohtude, and flappings of dusk wings 
Did mingle with them, whether of those hags 
Let slip upon me once from Hades deep. 
Or of yet direr torments, if such be, 
I could but guess ; and then toward me came 
A shape as of a woman : very pale 
It was, and calm ; its cold eyes did not move. 
And mine moved not, but only stared on them. 
Their fixed awe went through my brain like ice ; 
A skeleton hand seemed clutching at my heart. 
And a sharp chill, as if a dank night fog 
Suddenly closed me in, was all I felt : 
And then, methought, I heard a freezing sigh, 
A long, deep, shivering sigh, as from blue lips 
Stiffening in death, close to mine ear. I thought 
Some doom was close upon me, and I looked 
And saw the red moon through the heavy mist 
Just setting, and it seemed as it were falhng. 
Or reeling to its fall, so dim and dead 
And palsy-struck it looked. Then all sounds merged 
Into the rising surges of the pines. 
Which, leagues below me, clothing the gaunt loins 
Of ancient Caucasus with hairy strength. 
Sent up a murmur in the morning wind. 
Sad as the wail that from the populous earth 
All day and night to high Olympus soars. 
Fit incense to thy wicked throne, O Jove ! 

Thy hated name is tossed once more in scorn 
From off my lips, for I will tell thy doom. 



72 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

And are these tears? Nay, do not triumph, Jove. 
They are wrung from me but by the agonies 
Of prophecy, Uke those sparse drops which fall 
From clouds in travail of the lightning, when 
The great wave of the storm high-curled and black 
Rolls steadily onward to its thunderous break. 
Why art thou made a god of, thou poor type 
Of anger, and revenge, and cunning force ? 
True Power was never born of brutish Strength. 

. . . Are thy thunderbolts 
That quell the darkness for a space, so strong 
As the prevailing patience of meek Light, 
Who, with the invincible tenderness of peace, 
Wins it to be a portion of herself? 
Why art thou made a god of, thou who hast 
The never--sleeping terror at thy heart. 
That birthright of all tyrants, worse to bear 
Than this thy ravening bird on which I smile ? 
Thou swear'st to free me, if I will unfold 
What kind of doom it is whose omen flits 
Across thy heart, as o'er a troop of doves 
The fearful shadow of the kite. What need 
To know the truth whose knowledge cannot save ? 
Evil its errand hath as well as good ; 
When thine is finished, thou art known no more : 
There is a higher purity than thou. 
And higher purity is greater strength ; 
Thy nature is thy doom, at which thy heart 
Trembles behind the thick wall of thy might. 

Let man but hope and thou art straightway chilled 
With thought of that drear silence and deep night 
Which like a dream shall swallow thee and thine ; 
Let man but will, and thou art god no more. 
More capable of ruin than the gold 
And ivory that image thee on earth. 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 73 

He who hurled down the monstrous Titan brood 

BUnded with Hghtnings, with rough thunders stunned, 

Is weaker than a simple human thought. 

My slender voice can shake thee, as the breeze, 

That seems but apt to stir a maiden's hair, 

Sways huge Oceanus from pole to pole : 

For I am still Prometheus, and foreknow 

In my wise heart the end and doom of all. 

Yes, I am still Prometheus, wiser grown 
By years of soHtude, — that holds apart 
The past and future, giving the soul room 
To search into itself — and long commune 
With this eternal silence ; — more a god, 
In my long-suffering and strength to meet 
With equal front the direst shafts of fate. 
Than thou in thy faint-hearted despotism. 
Girt with thy baby-toys of force and wrath. 
Yes, I am that Prometheus who brought down 
The light to man, which thou, in selfish fear, 
Hadst to thyself usurped, — his by sole right. 
For Man hath right to all save Tyranny, — 
And which shall free him yet from thy frail throne. 
Tyrants are but the spawn of Ignorance, 
Begotten by the slaves they trample on. 
Who, could they win a glimmer of the light, 
And see that Tyranny is always weakness, 
Or Fear with its own bosom ill at ease. 
Would laugh away in scorn the sand-wove chain 
Which their own bHndness feigned for adamant. 
Wrong ever builds on quicksands, but the Right 
To the firm centre lays its moveless base. 
The tyrant trembles if the air but stirs 
The innocent ringlets of a child's free hair. 



74 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

And crouches, when the thought of some great spirit, 
With world-wide murmur, Hke a rising gale, 
Over men's hearts, as over standing corn, 
Rushes, and bends them to its own strong will. 
So shall some thought of mine yet circle earth. 
And puff away thy crumbling altars, Jove ! 

And wouldst thou know of my supreme revenge. 

Poor tyrant, even now dethroned in heart, 

Realmless in soul, as tyrants ever are, 

Listen ! and tell me if this bitter peak. 

This never-glutted vulture, and these chains 

Shrink not before it ; for it shall befit 

A sorrow-taught, unconquered Titan-heart. 

Men, when their death is on them, seem to stand 

On a precipitous crag that overhangs 

The abyss of doom, and in that depth to see, 

As in a glass, the features dim and vast 

Of things to come, the shadows, as it seems, 

Of what have been. Death ever fronts the wise \ 

Not fearfully, but with clear promises 

Of larger life, on whose broad vans upborne. 

Their outlook widens, and they see beyond 

The horizon of the Present and the Past, 

Even to the very source and end of things. 

Such am I now : immortal woe hath made 

My heart a seer, and my soul a judge 

Between the substance and the shadow of Truth. 

The sure supremeness of the Beautiful, 

By all the martyrdoms made doubly sure 

Of such as I am, this is my revenge. 

Which of my wrongs builds a triumphal arch. 

Through which I see a sceptre and a throne. 

The pipings of glad shepherds on the hills, 




''He who hurled down the monstrous Titan brood- 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 75 

Tending the flocks no more to bleed for thee, — 

The songs of maidens pressing with wliite feet 

The vintage on thine altars poured no more, 

The murmm'ous bliss of lovers, underneath 

Dim grape-vine bowers, — the hive-like hum 

Of peaceful commonwealths, where sunburnt Toil 

Reaps for itself the rich earth made its own 

By its own labor, lightened with glad hymns 

To an omnipotence which thy mad bolts 

Would cope with as a spark with the vast sea, — 

Even the spirit of true love and peace, 

Duty's sure recompense through life and death, — 

These are such harvests as all master-spirits 

Reap, haply not on earth, but reap no less 

Because the sheaves are bound by hands not theirs ; 

These are the bloodless daggers wherewithal 

They stab fallen tyrants, this their high revenge : 

For their best part of life on earth is when. 

Long after death, prisoned and pent no more, 

Their thoughts, their wild dreams even, have become 

Part of the necessary air men breathe ; 

When, like the moon, herself behind a cloud. 

They shed down light before us on life's sea, 

That cheers us to steer onward still in hope. 

Earth with her twining memories ivies o'er 

Their holy sepulchres ; the chainless sea. 

In tempest or wide calm, repeats their thoughts ; 

The lightning and the thunder, all free things, 

Have legends of them for the ears of men. 

All other glories are as faUing stars. 

But universal Nature watches theirs : 

Such strength is won by love of human kind. 

Not that I feel that hunger after fame, 

Which souls of a half-greatness are beset with ; 



76 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

But that the memory of noble deeds 

Cries shame upon the idle and the vile, 

And keeps the heart of man forever up 

To the heroic level of old time. 

To be forgot at first is Httle pain 

To a heart conscious of such high intent 

As must be deathless on the lips of men ; 

Butj having been a name, to sink and be 

A something which the world can do without, 

Which, having been or not, would never change 

The lightest pulse of fate, — this is indeed 

A cup of bitterness the worst to taste, 

And this thy heart shall empty to the dregs. 

Endless despair shall be thy Caucasus, 

And memory thy vulture ; thou wilt find 

Oblivion far lonelier than this peak, — 

Behold thy destiny ! Thou think' st it much 

That I should brave thee, miserable god ! 

But I have braved a mightier than thou, 

Even the tempting of this soaring heart. 

Which might have made me, scarcely less than thou, 

A god among my brethren weak and blind, — 

Scarce less than thou, a pitiable thing 

To be down-trodden into darkness soon. 

But now I am above thee, for thou art 

The bungling workmanship of fear, the block 

That awes the swart Barbarian ; but I 

Am what myself have made, — a nature wise 

With finding in itself the types of all, — 

With watching from the dim verge of the time 

What things to be are visible in the gleams 

Thrown forward on them from the luminous past, — 

Wise with the history of its own frail heart. 

With reverence of sorrow, and with love 

Broad as the world, for freedom and for man. 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 77 

Thou and all strength shall crumble, except Love, " 

By whom and for whose glory ye shall cease : 

And, when thou art but a dim moaning heard 

From out the pitiless gloom of Chaos, I 

Shall be a power and a memory, 

A name to fright all tyrants with, a light 

Unsetting as the pole-star, a great voice 

Heard in the breathless pauses of the fight 

By truth and freedom ever waged with wrong ; 

Clear as a silver trumpet, to awake 

Huge echoes that from age to age live on 

In kindred spirits, giving them a sense 

Of boundless power from boundless suffering wrung : 

And many a glazing eye shall smile to see 

The memory of my triumph, (for to meet 

Wrong with endurance, and to overcome 

The present with a heart that looks beyond, 

Is triumph,) like a prophet eagle, perch 

Upon the sacred banner of the Right. 

Evil springs up, and flowers, and bears no seed. 

And feeds the green earth with its swift decay 

Leaving it richer for the growth of truth ; 

But Good, once put in action or in thought. 

Like a strong oak, doth from its boughs shed down 

The ripe germs of a forest. Thou, weak god, 

Shalt fade and be forgotten ! but this soul, 

Fresh-living still in the serene abyss. 

In every heaving shall partake, that grows 

From heart to heart among the sons of men, — 

As the ominous hum before the earthquake runs 

Far through the vEgean from roused isle to isle, — 

Foreboding wreck to palaces and shrines, 

And mighty rents in many a cavernous error 

That darkens the free Hght to man : — This heart, 

Unscarred by thy grim vulture, as the truth 



78 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Grows but more lovely 'neath the beaks and claws 

Of Harpies blind that fain would soil it, shall 

In all the throbbing exultations share 

That wait on freedom's triumphs, and in all 

The glorious agonies of martyr spirits, — 

Sharp lightning-throes to spHt the jagged clouds 

That veil the future, showing them the end, — 

Pain's thorny crown for constancy and truth, 

Girding the temples like a wreath of stars. 

This is the thought that, like a fabled laurel. 

Makes my faith thunder-proof; and thy dread bolts 

Fall on me like the silent flakes of snow 

On the hoar brows of aged Caucasus : 

But, O thought far more blissful, they can rend 

This cloud of flesh, and make my soul a star ! 

Unleash thy crouching thunders now, O Jove ! 
Free this high heart, which, a poor captive long. 
Doth knock to be let forth, this heart which still. 
In its invincible manhood, overtops 
Thy puny godship, as this mountain doth 
The pines that moss its roots. O even now, 
While from my peak of suffering I look down, 
Beholding with a far-spread gush of hope 
The sunrise of that Beauty, in whose face, 
Shone all around with love, no man shall look 
But straightway like a god he is uplift 
Unto the throne long empty for his sake. 
And clearly oft foreshadowed in wide dreams 
By his free inward nature, which nor thou. 
Nor any anarch after thee, can bind 
From working its great doom, — now, now set free 
This essence, not to die, but to become 
Part of that awful Presence which doth haunt 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 79 

The palaces of tyrants, to hunt off 

With its grim eyes and fearful whisperings 

And hideous sense of utter loneliness, 

All hope of safety, all desire of peace, 

All but the loathed forefeeling of blank death, — 

Part of that spirit which doth ever brood 

In patient calm on the unpilfered nest 

Of man's deep heart, till mighty thoughts grow fledged 

To sail with darkening shadow o'er the world, 

Filling with dread such souls as dare not trust 

In the unfailing energy of Good, 

Until they swoop, and their pale quarry make 

Of some o'erbloated wrong, — that spirit which 

Scatters great hopes in the seed-field of man. 

Like acorns among grain, to grow and be 

A roof for freedom in all coming time ! 

But no, this cannot be ; for ages yet, 

In soHtude unbroken shall I hear 

The angry Caspian to the Euxine shout. 

And Euxine answer with a muffled roar, 

On either side storming the giant walls 

Of Caucasus with leagues of climbing foam, 

(Less from my height, than flakes of downy snow,) 

That draw back baffled but to hurl again. 

Snatched up in wrath and horrible turmoil. 

Mountain on mountain, as the Titans erst. 

My brethren, scaling the high seat of Jove, 

Heaved Pelion upon Ossa's shoulders broad 

In vain emprise. The moon will come and go 

With her monotonous vicissitude ; 

Once beautiful, when I was free to walk 

Among my fellows, and to interchange 

The influence benign of loving eyes. 

But now by aged use grown wearisome ; — 

False thought, most false ! for how could I endure 



80 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

These crawling centuries of lonely woe 
Unshamed by weak complaining, but for thee, 
Loneliest, save one, of all created things, 
Mild-eyed Astarte, my best comforter. 
With thy pale smile of sad benignity? 

Year after year will pass away and seem 

To me, in mine eternal agony. 

But as the shadows of dumb summer clouds, 

Which I have watched so often darkening o'er 

The vast Sarmatian plain, league-wide at first. 

But, with still swiftness lessening on and on 

Till cloud and shadow meet and mingle where 

The gray horizon fades into the sky, 

Far, far to northward. Yes, for ages yet 

Must I lie here upon my altar huge, 

A sacrifice for man. Sorrow will be, 

As it hath been, his portion ; endless doom. 

While the immortal with the mortal linked, 

Dreams of its wings and pines for what it dreams, 

With upward yearn unceasing. Better so : 

For wisdom is meek sorrow's patient child, 

And empire over self, and the deep. 

Strong charities that make men seem like gods ; 

Good never comes unmixed, or so it seems, 

Having two faces, as some images 

Are carved of foohsh gods ; one face is ill ; 

But one heart lies beneath, and that is good. 

As are all hearts, when we explore their depths. 

Therefore, great heart, bear up ! thou art but type 

Of what all lofty spirits endure that fain 

Would win men back to strength and peace through love 

Each hath his lonely peak, and on each heart 

Envy, or scorn, or hatred, tears lifelong 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 81 

With vulture beak ; yet the high soul is left ; 
And faith, which is but hope grown wise, and love 
And patience, which at last shall overcome. 



PROMETHEUS. 

Goethe. 

Cover thy spacious heavens, Zeus, 

With clouds of mist. 

And like the boy who lops 

The thistles' heads, 

Disport with oaks and mountain-peaks ; 

Yet thou must leave 

My earth still standing ; 

My cottage, too, which was not raised by thee ; 

Leave me my hearth, 

Whose kindly glow 

By thee is envied. 

I know naught poorer 

Under the sun, than ye gods ! 

Ye nourish painfully, 

With sacrifices 

And votive prayers. 

Your majesty; 

Ye would e'en starve, 

If children and beggars 

Were not trusting fools. 

While yet a child. 

And ignorant of life, 

I turned my wandering gaze 

Up toward the sun, as if with him 

There v/ere an ear to hear my wailings, 

G 



82 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE, 

A heart, like mine, 

To feel compassion for distress. 

Who helped me 

Against the Titan's insolence? 

Who rescued me from certain death. 

From slavery ? 

Didst thou not do all this thyself, 

My sacred glowing heart? 

And glowed'st, young and good, 

Deceived with grateful thanks 

To yonder slumbering one ? 

I honor thee, and why? 

Hast thou e'er lightened the sorrows 

Of the heavy-laden ? 

Hast thou e'er dried up the tears 

Of the anguish-stricken? 

Was I not fashioned to be a man 

By omnipotent Time, 

And by eternal Fate, 

Masters of me and thee? 

Didst thou e'er fancy 

That life I should learn to hate, 

And fly to deserts. 

Because not all 

My blossoming dreams grew ripe ? 

Here sit I forming mortals 

After my image ; 

A race resembhng me. 

To suffer, to weep, 

To enjoy, to be glad. 

And thee to scorn, 

As I ! 




'^ 




Here sit I, forming mortals after my image : 
A race resembling me, to suffer, to weep. 
To enjoy, to be glad, and thee to scorn, as I. 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 83 

PROMETHEUS. 

Lord Byron. 

Titan ! to whose immortal eyes 

The sufferings of mortality 

Seen in their sad reality 
Were not as things that gods despise ; 
What was thy pity's recompense ? 
A silent suffering and intense ; 
The rock, the vulture, and the chain. 
All that the proud can feel of pain, 
The agony they do not show, 
The suffocating sense of woe. 
Which speaks but in its loneliness. 

And then is jealous lest the sky 
Should have a listener, nor will sigh 

Until its voice is echoless. 

Titan ! to thee the strife was given 
Between the suffering and the will. 
Which torture where they cannot kill ; 

And the inexorable Heaven, 

And the deaf tyranny of Fate, 

The ruling principle of Hate, 

Which for its pleasure doth create 

The things it may annihilate, 

Refused thee even the boon to die ; 

The wretched gift Eternity 

Was thine — and thou hast borne it well. 

All that the Thunderer wrung from thee 

Was but the menace which flung back 

On him the torments of thy rack ; 

The fate thou didst so well foresee. 

But would not to appease him tell ; 



84 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

And in thy silence was his sentence, 
And in his soul a vain repentance, 
And evil dread so ill dissembled. 
That in his hand the lightnings trembled. 

Thy godlike crime was to be kind, 
To render, with thy precepts, less 
The sum of human wretchedness, 

And strengthen Man with his own mind : 

But baffled as thou wert from high. 

Still in thy patient energy. 

In the endurance and repulse 

Of thine impenetrable spirit. 

Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse, 
A mighty lesson we inherit : 

Thou art a symbol and a sign 

To mortals of their fate and force ; 

Like thee Man is in part divine, 

A troubled stream from a pure source ; 

And Man in portions can foresee 

His own funereal destiny; 

His wretchedness, and his resistance, 

And his sad unallied existence : 

To which his spirit may oppose 

Itself — and equal to all woes, 
And a firm will, and a deep sense. 



PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley. 

From Act I., Scene I. 

Prometheus is discovered bound to the precipice. 
He addresses Jove : — 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 

Monarch of gods and demons and all spirits 
But One who throng those bright and rolling worlds 
Which Thou and I alone of living things 
Behold with sleepless eyes ! regard this earth 
Made multitudinous with thy slaves, whom thou 
Requitest for knee-worship, prayer and praise, 
And toil and hecatombs of broken hearts, 
With fear and self-contempt and barren hope. 
While me, who am thy foe, eyeless in hate. 
Hast thou made reign and triumph, to thy scorn, 
O'er mine own misery and thy vain revenge 
Three thousand years of sleep-unsheltered hours. 
And moments aye divided by keen pangs 
Till they seemed years — torture and solitude, 
Scorn and despair — these are mine empire : 
More glorious far than that which thou surveyest 
From thine unenvied throne, oh mighty god ! 
Almighty had I deigned to share the shame 
Of thine ill tyranny, and hung not here 
Nailed to this wall of eagle-baffling mountain. 
Black, wintry, dead, unmeasured ; without herb. 
Insect or beast, or shape or sound of life — 
Ah me, alas ! pain, pain ever, forever ! 

No change, no pause, no hope ! Yet I endure. 
I ask the Earth have not the mountains felt? 
I ask yon Heaven, the all-beholding Sun, 
Has it not seen ? The Sea, in storm or calm 
Heaven's ever-changing shadow, spread below, 
Have its deaf waves not heard my agony ? 
Ah me, alas ! pain, pain ever, forever ! 

The crawhng glaciers pierce me with the spears 
Of their moon-freezing crystals ; the bright chains 
Eat with their burning cold into my bones. 



86 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Heaven's winged hound, polluting from thy lips 

His beak in poison not his own, tears up 

My heart ; and shapeless sights come wandering by, 

The ghastly people of the realm of dream. 

Mocking me : and the earthquake-fiends are charged 

To wrench the rivets from my quivering wounds 

When the rocks split and close again behind : 

While from their loud abysses howling throng 

The genii of the storm, urging the rage 

Of whirlwind, and afflict me with keen hail. 

And yet to me welcome is day and night. 

Whether one breaks the hoar frost of the morn, 

Or starry, dim and slow the other climbs 

The leaden-colored East ; for then they lead 

The wingless, crawling hours, one among whom — 

As some dark priest hales the reluctant victim — 

Shall drag thee, cruel King, to kiss the blood 

From these pale feet, which then might trample thee 

If they disdained not such a prostrate slave. 

Disdain ? Ah no ! I pity thee. What ruin 

Will hunt thee undefended through wide heaven ! 

How will thy soul, cloven to its depth with terror, 

Gape like a hell within ! I speak in grief, 

Not exultation, for I hate no more 

As then ere misery made me wise. The curse 

Once breathed on thee I would recall. Ye mountains, 

Whose many-voiced echoes through the mist 

Of cataracts flung the thunder of that spell ! 

Ye icy springs, stagnant with wrinkling frost, 

Which vibrated to hear me, and then crept 

Shuddering through India ! Thou serenest air, 

Through which the sun walks burning without beams ! 

And ye swift whirlwinds, who on poised wings 

Hung mute and moveless o'er yon hushed abyss, 

As thunder louder than your own made rock 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. "^Tl 

The orbed world ! If then my words had power. 
Though I am changed so that aught evil wish 
Is dead within : although no memory be 
Of what is hate, let them not lose it now ! 
What was that curse ? for ye all heard me speak. 
Which even in torture can descry 
Its own concentred recompense, 
Triumphant where it dares defy, 
And making Death a Victory ! 

******** 

The student who has made himself familiar with 
these poems in which Prometheus is represented as a 
type of heroic endurance, should read the drama '' Pro- 
metheus Unbound," by Shelley, from which we make 
only a short selection. 

A poem called '' Parrhasius and the Captive," by 
N. P. Willis, shows us a Grecian artist, 400 B.C., paint- 
ing a picture of Prometheus 

" Chained to the 
Cold rock of Mount Caucasus, 
The vulture at his vitals, and the Hnks 
Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh." 

PANDORA. 

The punishment devised by Zeus that he might be 
revenged on mankind for the favor shown men by 
Prometheus is set forth in the story of Pandora. He 
ordered Hephaestus to make of clay a form resembling 
that of the goddesses, and to endow it with speech. 
Each god and goddess gave her some gift to make her 



88 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

perfect, and she was called Pando'ra (all-gifted). Her- 
mes, the messenger of the gods, conducted her to the 
house of Epimetheus, brother of Prometheus, who gladly 
accepted her, though warned by Prometheus to beware 
of Zeus and his gifts. Pandora brought with her a box 
containing her marriage presents, into which each god 
had put some blessing. She opened the box incau- 
tiously, and all the blessings escaped except Hope, 
which lay at the bottom. 

The story of the creation of Pandora was first written 
in poetic form by Hesiod, next to Homer the oldest 
and most famous of Greek poets. He is supposed to 
have lived about 900 B.C. His version of the story 
differs slightly from that given above, and it is the one 
most frequently alluded to — i.e. : The box that Pandora 
opened contained all the evils of mind and body that 
have since afflicted the human race. It was curiosity 
that tempted her to open it. Hawthorne tells this 
story in his own inimitable way in "The Paradise of 
Children," one of the Wonder-Book stories. 



THE CREATION OF PANDORA. 

Hesiod. — (850 b.c.) 

The food of man in deep concealment lies, 
The angry gods have veil'd it from our eyes, 
Else had 072e day bestowed sufficient cheer, 
And, though inactive, fed thee through the year. 
Then might thy hand have laid the rudder by. 
In blackening smoke forever hung on high \ 
Then had the laboring ox foregone the soil, 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 89 

And patient mules had found relief from toil. 

But Jove concealed our food, incensed at heart 

Since mocked by wise Prometheus' wily art. 

Sore ills to man devised the Heavenly Sire, 

And hid the shining element of fire. 

Prometheus then, benevolent of soul. 

In hollow reed the spark recovering stole. 

Cheering to man, and mocked the god whose gaze 

Serene rejoices in the lightning's rays. 

"O son of Japhet ! " with indignant heart 

Spake the Cloud-gatherer, " O, unmatched in art ! 

Exultest thou in this the flame retriev'd. 

And dost thou triumph in the God deceived ? 

But thou, with the posterity of man, 

Shalt rue the fraud whence mightier ills began : 

I will send evil for thy stealthy fire. 

Evil which all shall love, and all admire." 

Thus spoke the Sire, whom Heaven and Earth obey, 

And bade the Fire-God mould his plastic clay ; 

Inbreathe the human voice within her breast. 

With firm-strung nerves th' elastic limbs invest 

Her aspect fair as goddesses above, 

A virgin's likeness with the brows of love. 

He bade Minerva teach the skill that dyes 

The web with colors as the shuttle flies ; 

He called the magic of love's charming queen 

To breathe around a witchery of mien : 

Then plant the rankling stings of keen desire. 

And cares that trick the limbs with pranked attire : 

Bade Hermes last impart the craft refined 

Of thievish manners and a shameless mind. 

He gives command, the inferior powers obey. 

The crippled artist moulds the tempered clay : 

A maid's coy image rose at Jove's behest ; 

Minerva clasp'd the zone, diffused the vest ; 



90 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Adored Persuasion, and the Graces young, 

Her tapered limbs with golden jewels hung ; 

Round her smooth brow the beauteous-tressed Hours 

A garland twin'd of Spring's purpureal flowers ; 

The whole attire Minerva's graceful art 

Dispos'd, adjusted, form'd to every part : 

And last the winged herald of the skies, 

Slayer of Argus, gave the gift of lies ; 

Gave trickish manners, honeyed words instilled. 

As he that rolls the deep'ning thunder willed : 

Then, by the feathered messenger of Heaven, 

The name Pandora to the maid was given ; 

For all the gods conferred a gifted grace 

To crown this mischief o{ iht mortal race. 

The Sire commands the winged herald bear 

The winged nymph, th' inextricable snare : 

To Epimetheus was the present brought ; 

Prometheus' warning vanished from his thought 

That he disdain each offering from the skies 

And straight restore, lest ill to man arise. 

But he received, and conscious knew too late 

Th' insidious gift, and felt the curse of fate. 

On earth of yore the sons of men abode 

From evil free, and labor's galling load ; 

Free from diseases that, with racking rage, 

Precipitate the pale decHne of age. 

Now swift the days of manhood haste away, 

And misery's pressure turns the temples gray. 

The woman's hands an ample casket bear ; 

She lifts the lid — she scatters ills in air. 

Hope sole remained within, nor took her flight, — 

Beneath the vessel's verge concealed from hght. 

Issued the rest in quick dispersion hurl'd, 

And woes innumerous roamed the breathing world : 

With ills the land is full, with ills the sea. 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 91 

Diseases haunt our frail humanity ; 

Self-wandering through the noon, the night, they gUde 

Voiceless — a voice the power all-wise denied : 

Know then this awful truth — it is not given 

To elude the wisdom of omniscient Heaven. 

That these two subjects have been favorites with 
many poets, is apparent from the selections given. 

The student is also referred to " Prometheus ; or, 
the Poet's Forethought," "■ Epimetheus ; or, the Poet's 
Afterthought," and " The Masque of Pandora," all by 
Longfellow. 

In them we discover how the modern poet adapts 
ancient classic thought to the expression of his own 
ideas. 

Icarus was the son of Daedalus, whose fame rests 
upon his building of the Labyrinth for Minos, king of 
Crete. The story of "The Minotaur," by Hawthorne, 
explains the design of this building. 

ICARUS. 

John G. Saxe. 
I. 

There lived and flourished long ago, in famous Athens town, 
One Daedalus, a carpenter of genius and renown ; 
(Twas he who with an auger taught mechanics how to bore, — 
An art which the philosophers monopolized before.) 

n. 

His only son was Ic'arus, a most precocious lad, 

The pride of Mrs. Daedalus, the image of his dad ; 

And while he yet was in his teens such progress he had made, 

He'd got above his father's size, and much above his trade. 



92 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE, 



III. 

Now Daedalus, the carpenter, had made a pair of wings, 
Contrived of wood and feathers and a cunning set of springs, 
By means of which the wearer could ascend to any height, 
And sail about among the clouds as easy as a kite ! 

IV. 

" O father," said young Icarus, " how I should like to fly ! 
And go like you where all is blue along the upper sky ; 
How very charming it would be above the moon to cHmb, 
And scamper through the Zodiac, and have a high old time ! 

V. 

" Oh, wouldn't it be jolly though, — to stop at all the inns ; 
To take a luncheon at ' The Crab,' and tipple at * The Twins ' ; 
And, just for fun and fancy, while careering through the air, 
To kiss the Virgin, tease the Ram, and bait the biggest Bear? 

VI. 

" O father, please to let me go ! " was still the urchin's cry : 
" I'll be extremely careful, sir, and won't go very high ; 
Oh, if this little pleasure trip you only will allow, 
I promise to be back again in time to fetch the cow ! " 

VII. 

" You're rather young," said Daedalus, " to tempt the upper air ; 
But take the wings and mind your eye with very special care ; 
And keep at least a thousand miles below the nearest star. 
Young lads, when out upon a lark, are apt to go too far ! " 

VIII. 

He took the wings — that fooHsh boy — without the least dis- 
may ; 
His father stuck 'em on with wax, and so he soared away ; 



SOME OF THE GIANT FORCES OF NATURE. 93 

Up, up he rises like a bird, and not a moment stops 
Until he's fairly out of sight beyond the mountain-tops ! 

IX. 

And still he flies — away — away ; it seems the merest fun ; 
No marvel he is getting bold, and aiming at the sun ; 
No marvel he forgets his sire ; it isn't very odd 
That one so far above the earth should think himself a god ! 



Already in his silly pride, he's gone too far aloft ; 

The heat begins to scorch his wings ; the wax is waxing soft ; 

Down — down he goes ! — Alas ! — next day poor Icarus was 

found 
Afloat upon the ^^gean Sea, extremely damp and drowned ! 

L' ENVOI. 

The moral of this mournful tale is plain enough to all : 

Don't get above your proper sphere, or you may chance to fall ; 

Remember, too, that borrowed plumes are most uncertain 

things ; 
And never try to scale the sky with other people's wings ! 

Note. — The student should also read " The New Icarus " by Lucian. 
A translation of some of Lucian's Satires and Dialogues is published in 
cheap form by John B. Alden, 57 Rose St., N. Y. 



GROUP III. 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 



THE APPLE OF DISCORD. 

At the marriage of Pe'leus and The'tis, all the deities 
were present except E'ris (Discord). Indignant at not 
being invited, she determined to cause dissension, and 
threw into the midst of the guests a golden apple, with 
the inscription on it, '' For the Fairest." The claims of 
all others were obliged to yield to those of Hera (Juno), 
Pallas Athene (Minerva), and Aphrodite (Venus), and 
the decision was left to Paris, son of Priam, king of 
Troy, who, ignorant of his noble birth, was at that time 
feeding flocks on Mount Ida. Hermes conducted the 
rival beauties to the young shepherd. Each tried to 
bribe Paris to decide in her favor by promising him 
what she thought he desired most. Hera offered him 
power as a ruler over extensive dominions, if he would 
award the prize to her ; Athene promised him fame in 
war; Aphrodite promised him the fairest woman in 
Greece for his wife, and to her, the queen of beauty, 
he awarded the prize. Paris soon afterward deserted 

94 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 95 

his wife, CEnone, and carried off Helen, the wife of 
Menela'us, king of Sparta. This was the immediate 
cause of the Trojan War. 

Tennyson's " CEnone " tells this story : — 

There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier 

Than all the valleys of Ionian hills, 

The swimming vapor slopes athwart the glen, 

Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine, 

And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand 

The lawns and meadow ledges midway down 

Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars 

The long brook falling thro' the clov'n ravine 

In cataract after cataract to the sea. 

Behind the valley topmost Gargarus 

Stands up and takes the morning : but in front 

The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal 

Troas and Ilion's column'd citadel, 

The crown of Troas. 

Hither came at noon 
Mournful CEnone, wandering forlorn 
Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills. 
Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck 
Floated her hair or seem'd to float in rest. 
She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine. 
Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shade 
Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff. 

"O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, 
Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 
For now the noonday quiet holds the hill : 
The grasshopper is silent in the grass : 
The Hzard, with his shadow on the stone. 



96 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Rests like a shadow, and the cicala sleeps. 
The purple flowers droop : the golden bee 
Is lily-cradled : I alone awake. 
My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, 
My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim, 
And I am all aweary of my life. 

" O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, 
Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 
Hear me, O Earth, hear me O Hills, O Caves 
That house the cold crown'd snake ! O mountain brooks, 
I am the daughter of a River-God ; 
Hear me, for I will speak and build up all 
My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls 
Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed, 
A cloud that gather'd shape : for it may be 
That, while I speak of it, a little while 
My heart may wander from its deeper woe. 

" O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, 
Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 
I waited underneath the dawning hills ; 
Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark. 
And dewy-dark aloft the mountain pine : 
Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris, 
Leading a jet-black goat white-horn'd, white-hoov'd, 
Came up from reedy Sim'ois all alone. 

'' O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 
Far-off the torrent call'd me from the cleft : 
Far up the solitary morning smote 
The streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eyes 
I sat alone : white-breasted like a star 
Fronting the dawn he moved ; a leopard skin 
Droop'd from his shoulder, but his sunny hair 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 

Cluster'd about his temples like a god's : 
And his cheek brighten'd as the foam bow brightens 
When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart 
Went forth to embrace him coming ere he came. 

'' Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 
He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm, 
Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold. 
That smelt ambrosially, and while I look'd 
And hsten'd, the full-flowing river of speech 
Came down upon my heart. 

" ' My own CEnone, 
Beautiful-brow'd (Enone, my own soul. 
Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav'n 
"For the most fair," would seem to award it thine. 
As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt 
The knolls of Ida, loveHest in all grace 
Of movement, and the charm of married brows.' 

" Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 
He added, ' This was cast upon the board. 
When all the full-faced presence of the gods 
Ranged in the halls of Peleus ; whereupon 
Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twere due ; 
But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve, 
Delivering, that to me, by common voice, 
Elected umpire, Hera comes to-day, 
Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each 
This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave 
Beyond yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, 
Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard, 
Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of gods.' 

'' Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 
It was the deep mid-noon : one silvery cloud 



98 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Had lost his way between the piney sides 

Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came ; 

They came to that smooth-swarded bower, 

And at their feet the crocus brake like fire, 

Violet, amaracus, and asphodel, 

Lotos and lilies : and a wind arose, 

And overhead the wandering ivy and vine. 

This way and that, in many a wild festoon 

Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs 

With bunch and berry and flower thro' and thro'. 

" O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 
On the tree-tops a crested peacock Ht, 
And o'er him flow'd a golden cloud, and lean'd 
Upon him, slowly dropping fragrant dew. 
Then first I heard the voice of her, to whom 
Coming thro' Heaven, like a light that grows 
Larger and clearer, with one mind the gods 
Rise up for reverence. She to Paris made 
Proffer of royal power, ample rule 
Unquestion'd, overflowing revenue 
Wherewith to embellish state, ' from many a vale 
And river-sunder'd champaign clothed with corn, 
Or labor'd mines undrainable of ore. 
Honor,' she said, ' and homage, tax and tofl. 
From many an inland town and haven large, 
Mast-throng'd beneath her shadowing citadel 
In glassy bays among her tallest towers.' 

" O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 
Still she spake on, and still she spake of power 
' Which in all action is the end of all ; 
Power fitted to the season ; wisdom-bred 
And throned of wisdom — from all neighbor crowns 
Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 99' 

Fail from the sceptre-staff. Such boon from me, 
From me, Heaven's Queen, Paris, to thee king-born, 
A shepherd all thy hfe, but yet king-born. 
Should come most welcome, seeing men, in power. 
Only, are likest gods, who have attain'd 
Rest in a happy place and quiet seats 
Above the thunder, with undying bliss 
In knowledge of their own supremacy.' 

" Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 
She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit 
Out at arm's-length, so much the thought of power 
Flatter'd his spirit ; but Pallas where she stood 
Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs 
O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear 
Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold, 
The while, above, her full and earnest eye 
Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek 
Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply. 

" ^ Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control. 
These three alone lead life to sovereign power. 
Yet not for power, (power of herself 
Would come uncall'd for,) but to live by law. 
Acting the law we live by without fear ; 
And, because right is right, to follow right 
Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.' 
Again she said : ' I woo thee not with gifts. 
Sequel of guerdon could not alter me 
To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am, 
So shalt thou find me fairest. 

" ' Yet, indeed, 
If gazing on divinity disrobed 
Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair. 



100 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Unbiass'd by self-profit, O, rest thee sure 
That I shall love thee well and cleave to thee, 
So that my vigor, wedded to thy blood. 
Shall strike within thy pulses, like a god's, 
To push thee forward thro' a life of shocks. 
Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow 
Sinew'd with action, and the full-grown will, 
Circled thro' all experience, pure law, 
Commeasure perfect freedom.' 

"Here she ceased. 
And Paris pondered, and I cried, ' O Paris, 
Give it to Pallas ! ' but he heard me not. 
Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me ! 

" O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, 
Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 
Idalian Aphrodite beautiful, 
Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells, 
With rosy, slender fingers backward drew 
From her warm brows and bosom her bright hair 
Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat 
And shoulder : from the violets her hght foot 
Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form 
Between the shadows of the vine-bunches 
Floated the glowing sunlights as she moved. 

" Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 
She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes. 
The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh 
Half-whispered in his ear, ' I promise thee 
The fairest and most loving wife in Greece.' 
She spoke and laugh'd : I shut my eyes for fear: 
But when I look'd, Paris had raised his arm. 
And I beheld great Hera's angry eyes, 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 101 

As she withdrew into the golden cloud, 
And I was left alone within the bower ; 
And from that time to this I am alone, 
And I shall be alone until I die. 

" Yet, mother Ida, hearken ere I die. 
Fairest — why fairest wife? am I not fair? 
My love hath told me so a thousand times. 
Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday. 
When I past by, a wild and wanton pard. 
Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail 
Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is she. 
Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my arms 
Were wound about thee, and my hot Hps prest 
Close, close to thine in that quick-falling dew 
Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains 
Flash in the pools of whirling Sim'ois. 

" O mother, hear me yet before I die. 
They came and cut away my tallest pines. 
My dark tall pines, that plumed the craggy ledge 
High over the blue gorge, and all between 
The snowy peak and snow-white cataract 
Foster'd the callow eaglet — from beneath 
Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark morn 
The panther's roar came muffled, while I sat 
Low in the valley. Never, never more 
Shall lone CEnone see the morning mist 
Sweep thro' them ; never see them overlaid 
With narrow moon-lit slips of silver cloud. 
Between the loud stream and the trembling stars. 

" O mother, hear me yet before I die. 
I wish that somewhere in the ruin'd folds, 
Among the fragments trembled from the glens 



102 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Or the dry thickets, I could meet with her, 

The Abominable, that uninvited came 

Into the fair Peleian banquet-hall, 

And cast the golden fruit upon the board, 

And bred this change ; that I might speak my mind, 

And tell her to her face how much I hate 

Her presence, hated both of gods and men. 

" O mother, hear me yet before I die. 
Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times 
In this green valley, under this green hill, 
Ev'n on this hand, and sitting on this stone ? 
Seal'd it with kisses? water'd it with tears? 
O happy tears, and how unlike to these ! 
O happy Heaven, how canst thou see my face ? 
O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight? 

death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud, 
There are enough unhappy on this earth ; 
Pass by the happy souls that love to live : 

1 pray thee, pass before my hght of life, 
And shadow all my soul, that I may die. 
Thou weighest heavy on the heart within. 
Weigh heavy on my eyelids : let me die. 

" O mother, hear me yet before I die. 
I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts 
Do shape themselves within me, more and more. 
Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear 
Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills, 
Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly see 
My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother 
Conjectures of the features of her child 
Ere it is born ; her child ! — a shudder comes 
Across me : never child be born of me, 
Unblest, to vex me with his father's eyes ! 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 103 

"O mother, hear me yet before I die. 
Hear me, O earth ! I will not die alone, 
Lest their shrill happy laughter come to me 
Walking the cold and starless road of Death, 
Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love 
With the Greek woman. I will rise and go 
Down into Troy, and ere the stars come forth 
Talk with the wild Cassandra, for she says 
A fire dances before her, and a sound 
Rings ever in her ears of armed men. 
What this may be I know not, but I know 
That, wheresoe'er I am by night and day. 
All earth and air seem only burning fire." 



'THERE CAME THREE QUEENS FROM HEAVEN." 

By W. W. Young. 

(^Atlantic Monthly, November, 1878.) 

It SO befel that, once upon a time. 
Before the shepherd Paris, as he roved. 
Guarding his flocks, upon a slope of Ida, 
There came three queens from heaven, to contest 
The palm of man's approval, and they spake : 
" Which of us three is fairest — which best worth 
The winning? Choose ! And as thy choice shall fall 
Bestow the prize." 

Then in his hand they placed 
The apple of red gold, which Eris cast 
Upon the banquet-table of the gods. 

And first the royal Hera, spouse of Jove, 
Preferred her suit : 

" O Paris, hear me well ! 
Lo, this fair apple is thy golden youth, 



104 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Which, so thou barter wisely, wins for thee 

Thy heart's most secret wish. But be thou warned, — 

Once, and once only, shalt thou name thy choice, 

And then keep silence. I am Hera, I, 

And with this gift of gifts I make thee mine." 

She ceased, and flashed before his dazzled sight 
A naked sword, and on the blade was writ, 
" Power ! " But Paris mused a little space, 
And turned aside and answered, " Let me hear." 

Then spake the second, hollow-eyed and pale, 
With sad, stern voice : 

" I am Athena, I, 
And these my attributes among the gods, — 
Knowledge, self-wisdom, virtue, self-control. 
Short is my wooing. Wilt thou reign with me ? 
Take up thy sceptre." 

At his feet she cast 
A reed, in fashion like a poet's pen. 
And on the shaft, graven in lines of fire, 
A word of rapture, — " Fame ! " But Paris mused, 
And turned aside and answered, " Let me hear." 

Then third, the last and fairest yet of all, 

The subtle Aphrodite, ocean-born, 

Arose, and stood, a flower amid the flowers ; 

No word she spake, but waved her hand ; 

And lo ! instant as in a dream of sorcery 

He saw the Grecian Helen floating through 

The dance of Bacchus, crowned with poppies of the field 

Fairer than light, her hair unbound, her eyes 

Radiant, her hps apart, as one who murmurs, 

^'Follow ! follow ! follow ! " And ever onward, 

'' Follow, " fainter still, still farther, fainter ; 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 105 

Till the vision paled, and left him 
Straining after, hands and eyes. 

Then through the silence throbbed 
A tender voice : " Behold my gift ! " 

And Paris said, " I choose ! " 
Yea with a mighty, heart-stirring, strong cry : 
" Sweet are the dreams of Power ; sweet is Fame : ■ 
But sweeter yet than all sweet things that be 
Whether on earth, in heaven, sea, or air, 
O Love, take thou my youth ! " 

And thereupon, 
Whilst yet in air he tossed the golden sphere. 
Whirled downward by a shrill and bitter wind 
That waked the yelping foxes of the gorge. 
And drove the screaming eagle to the crag. 
And rapt away the daylight like a scroll, 
Night fell on Ida, — night and loneliness, 
Without the hght of moon, or any star, 
Save where above a rampart to the east 
Red Mars came reeling, drunken from his wars, 
And turned against the earth his bloody shield. 

Compare " CEnone " with " There came Three Queens from Heaven." 
Tennyson casts the story in the monologue form. CEnone tells her woes 
in strong, passionate, sometimes bitter language. The second poem is a 
simple narrative, varied by presenting the appeals of the three qtieens in the 
first person. The question as to which leaves the more vivid impression on 
the mind will naturally arise. Discuss the artistic merit of the two poems. 



IPHIGENIA. 

The story of Iphigenia appeals very strongly to our 
sympathies, v^hether we read it in prose or poetry. 
Her martyrdom at Aulis, that the Grecian fleet might 



1 06 FO UNDA TION S TUBIES IN LITER A TURK. 

sail for Troy, is the subject of one of the most famous 
of the tragedies written by Euripides (480 B.C.). 

Goethe's drama, "Iphigenia in Tauris," was first 
written in prose, and presented at the Court Theatre 
in Weimar about 1779. Goethe himself acted the part 
of Orestes. 

Mrs. Jameson, writing of Goethe and his works, says : 
** His only heroic and ideal creation is the ' Iphigenia,' 
and she is as perfect and as pure as a piece of Greek 
sculpture. 

" I think it a proof that if he did not understand or like 
the active heroism of Amazonian ladies, he had a very 
sublime idea of the passive heroism of female nature. 
The basis of the character is truth. The drama is 
the very triumph of unsullied, unflinching truth." 

The student should not be content with these selected 
parts of the plays, but should read the entire dramas, 
and note that the work of the modern poet is the com- 
plement of that of the ancient poet, and so realize the 
influence of the literature of one nation, language, and 
time upon another. 

The great French dramatic poet, Racine, has made 
the story of the sacrifice of Iphigenia the subject of 
one of his dramas. This is another evidence of the 
pervasive influence of Greek literature, which has fur- 
nished the foundation for many of the world's literary 
products through all ages. 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 107 

IPHIGENIA IN AULIS. 
Euripides. [Potter's Translation.] 

Iphigenia pleading with her father to spare her life : — 

Had I, my father, the persuasive voice 
Of Orpheus, and his skill to charm the rocks 
To follow me, and soothe whome'er I please 
With winning words, I would make trial of it : 
But I have nothing to present thee now 
Save tears, my only eloquence ; and those 
I can present thee. On thy knees I hang 
A supphant. Ah ! kill me not in youth's fresh prime. 
Sweet is the light of heaven : compel me not 
What is beneath to view. I was the first 
To call thee father, me thou first didst call 
Thy child. I was the first that on thy knees 
Fondly caress'd thee, and from thee received 
The fond caress. This was thy speech to me : 
" Shall I, my child, e'er see thee in some house 
Of splendor, happy in thy husband, live 
And flourish, as becomes thy dignity?" 
My speech to thee was, leaning 'gainst thy cheek, 
Which with my hand I now caress, '^ And what 
Shall I then do for thee ? Shall I receive 
My father when grown old, and in my house 
Cheer him with each fond office ; to repay 
The careful nurture which he gave my youth?" 
These words are on my memory deep impressed : 
Thou hast forgot them, and wilt kill thy child. 
By Pelops I entreat thee, by thy sire 
Atreus, by this mother who before suffered for me, 
And who now worse pangs will suffer, 
Do not kill me. If Paris be enamored of his bride, 



108 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE, 

His Helen, what concerns it me ? and how 

Comes he to my destruction? Look upon me, 

Give me a smile, give me a kiss, my father. 

That if my words persuade thee not, in death 

I may have this memorial of thy love. 

My brother, small assistance canst thou give 

Thy friends, yet for thy sister, oh ! with tears 

Implore thy father, that she may not die : 

E'en infants have a sense of ills : and see, 

My father, silent though he be, he sues 

To thee : be gentle to me, on my life 

Have pity : thy two children by this beard 

Entreat thee, thy dear children ; one is yet 

An infant, one to riper years arrived. 

I will sum all in this, which shall contain 

More than long speech ; to view the light of life 

To mortals is most sweet, but all beneath 

Is nothing : of his senses is he reft 

Who hath a wish to die ; for life, though ill, 

Excels whate'er there is of good in death. 

Chorus. For thee, unhappy Helen, and thy love, 
A contest dreadful, and surcharg'd with woes. 
For the Atridse and their children comes. 

Agamemnon. What calls for pity, and what not, I know 
I love my children, else I should be void 
Of reason : to dare this is dreadful to me, 
And not to dare is dreadful. I perforce 
Must do it. What a naval camp is here 
You see, how many kings of Greece array'd 
In glittering arms : to Ihum's towers are these 
Denied t' advance, unless I offer thee a victim. 
Thus the prophet Calchas speaks. 
Denied from her foundations to o'erturn 
Illustrious Troy ; and through the Grecian host 
Maddens the fierce desire to sail with speed 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 109 

'Gainst the barbarian's land, and check their rage 
For Grecian dames : my daughters these will slay 
At Argos ; you too will they slay and me, 
Should I, the goddess not revering, make 

Of none effect her oracle. 

\_Exit Agamemnon. 

The story of the sacrifice of Iphigenia is told to her 
mother by a messenger. 

Ejiter Messenger. 

Mess. O royal Clytemnestra, from the house 
Hither advance, that thou may'st hear my words. 

Cly. Hearing thy voice I come, but with affright 
And terror trembling, lest thy coming bring 
Tidings of other woes, beyond what now afflict me. 

Mess. Of thy daughter have I things 
Astonishing and awful to relate. 

Cly. Delay not then, but speak them instantly. 

Mess. Yes, honor'd lady, thou shalt hear them all. 
Distinct from first to last, if that my tongue 
Disorder'd be not faithless to my tongue. 
When to Diana's grove and flow'ry meads 
We came, where stood th' assembled host of Greece, 
Leading thy daughter, straight in close array 
Was form'd the band of Argives : but the chief, 
Imperial Agamemnon, when he saw 
His daughter as a victim to the grove 
Advancing, groan'd, and bursting into tears 
Turn'd from the sight his head, before his eyes 
Holding his robe. The virgin near him stood 
And thus address'd him : " Father, I to thee 
Am present : for my country, and for all 
The land of Greece I freely give myself 



110 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

A victim ; to the altar let them lead me, 

Since such the oracle. If aught on me 

Depends, be happy, and attain the prize 

Of glorious conquest, and revisit safe 

Your country : of the Grecians for this cause 

Let no one touch me ; with intrepid spirit 

Silent will I present my neck." She spoke. 

And all that heard, admir'd the noble soul, 

The virtu-e of the maiden. In the midst 

Talthybius standing, such his charge, proclaim'd 

Silence to all the host : and Calchas now. 

The prophet, in the golden basket plac'd, 

Drawn from its sheath, the sharp- edged sword, and bound 

The sacred garlands round the virgin's head. 

The son of Peleus, holding in his hands 

The basket and the laver, circled round 

The altar of the goddess, and thus spoke : 

" Daughter of Jove, Diana, in the chase 

Of savage beasts delighting, through the night 

Who rollest thy resplendent orb, accept 

This victim, which th' associate troops of Greece, 

And Agamemnon, our imperial chief. 

Present to thee, the unpolluted blood 

Now from this beauteous virgin's neck to flow. 

Grant that secure our fleets may plough the main, 

And that our arms may lay the rampir'd walls 

Of Troy in dust." The son of Atreus stood. 

And all the host fix'd on the ground their eyes. 

The priest then took the sword, preferr'd his pray'r, 

And with his eye marked where to give the blow. 

My heart with grief sunk in me, on the earth 

Mine eyes were cast ; when sudden to the view 

A wonder ; for the stroke each clearly heard, 

But where the virgin was none knew : aloud 

The priest exclaims, and all the host with shouts 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. Ill 

Rifted the air, beholding from some god 

A prodigy, which struck their wond'ring eyes, 

Surpassing faith when seen : for on the ground 

Panting was laid a hind of largest bulk. 

In form excelHng ; with its spouting blood 

Much was the altar of the goddess dew'd. 

Calchas at this, think with what joy, exclaim'd : 

" Ye leaders of the united host of Greece, 
See you this victim, by the goddess brought, 
And at her altar laid, a mountain hind ? 
This, rather than the maiden, she accepts. 
Not with the rich stream of her noble blood 

To stain the altar ; this she hath received 
Of her free grace, and gives a fav'ring gale 
To swell our sails, and bear th' invading war 
To Ihum : therefore rouse, ye naval train. 
Your courage ; to your ships ; for we this day 
Must pass the ^gean sea." Soon as the flames 
The victim had consumed, he pour'd a prayer 
That o'er the waves the host might plough their way. 
Me, Agamemnon sends, that I should bear 
To thee these tidings, and declare what fate 
The gods assign him, and through Greece 't obtain 
Immortal glory. What I now relate 
I saw, for I was present : to the gods 
Thy daughter, be thou well assured, is fled, 
Therefore lament no more, no more retain 
Thy anger 'gainst thy lord ; to mortal men 
Things unexpected oft the gods dispense. 
And, whom they love, they save : this day hath seen 
Thy daughter dead, seen her alive again. 

Cly. And have the gods, my daughter, borne thee hence ? 
How then shall I address thee ? or of this 
How deem? vain words, perchance to comfort me? 
And soothe to peace this anguish of my soul. 



112 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Mess. But Agamemnon comes, and will confirm 
Each circumstance which thou hast heard from me. 

Enter Agamemnon. 

Aga. Lady, we have much cause to think ourselves, 
Touching our daughter, blest : for 'mongst the gods 
Commercing she in truth resides. But thee 
Behoves it with thine infant son return 
To Argos, for the troops with ardor haste 
To sail. And now farewell : my greetings to thee 
From Troy unfrequent, and at times 
Of distant interval : may'st thou be blest ! 



IPHIGENIA AND AGAMEMNON. 

Walter Savage Landor. 

Iphigenia, when she heard her doom 

At Aulis, and when all beside the king 

Had gone away, took his right hand and said : 

" O father ! I am young and very happy ; 

I do not think the pious Calchas heard 

Distinctly what the goddess spake ; — old age 

Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who knew 

My voice so well, sometimes misunderstood. 

While I was resting on her knee both arms 

And hitting it to make her mind my words. 

And looking in her face, and she in mine. 

Might not he, also, hear one word amiss. 

Spoken from so far off, even from Olympus?" 

The father placed his cheek upon her head 

And tears dropt down it ; but the king of men 

Replied not. Then the maiden spake once more : 

"■ O father ! sayest thou nothing? Hearest thou not 

Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour, 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 113 

Listened to fondly, and awakened me 

To hear my voice amid the voice of birds, 

When it was inarticulate as theirs, 

And the down deadened it within the nest? ' 

He moved her gently from him, silent still ; 

And this, and this alone, brought tears from her, 

Although she saw fate nearer. Then with sighs : 

" I thought to have laid down my hair before 

Benignant Artemis, and not dimmed 

Her pohshed altar with my virgin blood ; 

I thought to have selected the white flowers 

To please the nymphs, and to have asked of each 

By name, and with no sorrowful regret. 

Whether, since both my parents willed the change, 

I might at Hymen's feet bend my dipt brow 

And (after these who mind us girls the most) 

Adore our own Athene, that she would 

Regard me mildly with her azure eyes — 

But, father, to see you no more, and see 

Your love, O father ! go ere I am gone ! " 

Gently he moved her off, and drew her back, 

Bending his lofty head far over hers. 

And the dark depths of nature heaved and burst. 

He turned away — not far, but silent still. 

She now first shuddered ; for in him, so nigh. 

So long a silence seemed the approach of death. 

And like it. Once again she raised her voice : 

'^ O father ! if the ships are now detained, 

And all your vows move not the gods above, 

When the knife strikes me there will be one prayer 

The less to them ; and prayer can there be 

Any, or more fervent, than the daughter's prayer 

For her dear father's safety and success? " 

A groan that shook him, shook not his resolve. 

An aged man now entered, and without 



114 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

One word stepped slowly on, and took the wrist 
Of the pale maiden. She looked up and saw 
The fillet of the priest and calm, cold eyes. 
Then turned she where her parent stood, and cried 
" O father ! grieve no more ; the ships can sail." 



IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 

GOETHE. 

[Translated by Anna Swanwick.] 

Scene I. — A grove before the temple of Diana. 

IpJiigenia. Beneath your leafy gloom, ye waving boughs 
Of this old, shady, consecrated grove. 
As in the goddess' silent sanctuary. 
With the same shuddering feeling forth I step. 
As when I trod it first ; nor ever here 
Doth my unquiet spirit feel at home. 
Long as a higher will, to which I bow. 
Hath kept me here concealed, still, as at first, 
I feel myself a stranger. For the sea 
Doth sever me, alas ! from those I love : 
And day by day upon the shore I stand, 
The land of Hellas seeking with my soul ; 
But, to my sighs, the hollow-sounding waves 
Bring, save their own hoarse murmurs, no reply. 
Alas for him ! who, friendless and alone, 
Remote from parents and from brethren dwells : 
From him grief snatches every coming joy 
Ere it doth reach his lips. His yearning thoughts 
Throng back forever to his father's halls. 
Where first to him the radiant sun unclosed 
The gates of heaven ; where closer, day by day. 




'And day by day upon the shore I stand. 
The land of Hellas seeking with my soul. 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 115 

Brothers and sisters, leagued in pastime sweet, 

Around each other twined love's tender bonds. 

I will not reckon with the gods ; yet truly 

Deserving of lament is woman's lot. 

Man rules ahke at home and in the field, 

Nor is in foreign climes without resource : 

Him conquest crowneth, him possession gladdens^ 

And him an honorable death awaits. 

How circumscribed is woman's destiny ! 

Obedience to a harsh, imperious lord. 

Her duty and her comfort : sad her fate. 

Whom hostile fortune drives to lands remote ! 

Thus Thoas holds me here, a noble man. 

Bound with a heavy though a sacred chain. 

Oh, how it shames me, goddess, to confess 

That with repugnance I perform these rites 

For thee, divine protectress ! unto whom 

I would in freedom dedicate my life. 

In thee, Diana, I have always hoped ; 

And still I hope in thee, who didst infold 

Within the holy shelter of thine arm 

The outcast daughter of the mighty king. 

Daughter of Jove ! hast thou from ruined Troy 

Led back in triumph to his native land 

The mighty man, whom thou didst sore afflict. 

His daughter's life in sacrifice demanding, — 

Hast thou for him, the god-like Agamemnon, 

Who to thine altar led his darling child. 

Preserved his wife, Electra, and his son. 

His dearest treasures ? — then at length restore 

Thy suppliant also to her friends and home. 

And save her, as thou once from death didst save, 

So now, from living here, a second death. 



116 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

In the second scene a messenger comes to Iphigenia 
from the king, Thoas, to bid her prepare everything 
for the sacrifice that the king wishes to make to Diana 
in thanksgiving for new and wondrous conquests that 
he has achieved. The messenger, Arkas, notices that 
Iphigenia is brooding over some secret grief, and seeks 
to gain her confidence. She tells him that being an 
exile and an orphan in this strange land is a sufficient 
cause for her sadness. He then tells her that the king, 
Thoas, seeks her favor, and he cautions her to lend the 
king's purposed words a gracious ear. She is alarmed 
at his words, fearing that she is in the king's power, and 
that even her office as priestess of the temple of Diana 
will not save her from the king's displeasure. She asks 
Arkas to tell her further what he knows of the king's 
purposes. He tells her the king is approaching and 
begs her to meet him kindly and with confidence. 

The third scene gives the conversation between Iphi- 
genia and Thoas, in which, acting on the friendly advice 
of Arkas, she tells him the story of her parentage and 
of her escape from the knife of the priest who was 
to offer the sacrifice, by the power of the goddess Diana. 
When the king knows her story he again proposes to 
her to give up her office in the temple, to become his 
wife, and share with him all that he possesses. 

Her answer is : — , 

How dare I venture such a step, O king? 
Hath not the goddess who protected me 
Alone a right to my devoted head ? 
Twas she who chose for me this sanctuary, 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 117' 

Where she perchance reserves me for my sire, 
By my apparent death enough chastised, 
To be the joy and solace of his age. 
Perchance my glad return is near; and how, 
If I, unmindful of her purposes, 
Had here attached myself against her will ? 
I asked a signal, did she wish me stay ? 

Thoas. The signal is, that still thou tarriest here. 
Seek not evasively such vain pretexts. 
Not many words are needed to refuse, 
The no alone is heard by the refused. 

Iphigenia still pleads her sacred office and the dis- 
pleasure of the gods as a sufficient reason for her refusal, 
and Thoas, as if satisfied, says : — 

I am a man, 
And better 'tis we end this conference. 
Hear then my last resolve. Be priestess still 
Of the great goddess who selected thee ; 
And may she pardon me, that I from her. 
Unjustly, and with secret self reproach. 
Her ancient sacrifice so long withheld ! 
From olden time no stranger neared our shore 
But fell a victim at her sacred shrine. 
But thou, with kind affection (which at times 
Seemed like a gentle daughter's tender love. 
At times assumed to my enraptured heart 
The modest inchnation of a bride), 
Didst so enthrall me, as with magic bonds. 
That I forgot my duty. Thou didst rock 
My senses in a dream : I did not hear 
My people's murmurs ; now they cry aloud. 
Ascribing my poor son's untimely death 



118 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

To this my guilt. No longer for thy sake 
Will I oppose the wishes of the crowd, 
Who urgently demand the sacrifice. 

Iphigenia. For mine own sake I ne'er desired it from thee. 
Who to the gods ascribe a thirst for blood 
Do misconceive their nature, and impute 
To them their own inhuman dark desires. 
Did not Diana snatch me from the priest, 
Holding my service dearer than my death ? 

Thoas. 'Tis not for us, on reason's shifting grounds, 
Lightly to guide and construe rites divine. 
Perform thy duty : I'll accomplish mine. 
Two strangers, whom in caverns of the shore 
We found concealed, and whose arrival here 
Bodes to my realm no good, are in my power. 
With them thy goddess may once more resume 
Her ancient, pious, long-suspended rites ! 
I send them here, — thy duty not unknown. 



Iphigenia implores the goddess whom she serves to 
protect her, and to keep her hands from shedding 
blood. 

The tv^o strangers who have lately landed on the 
coast of Tauris, and whom Thoas is about to send to 
the temple of Diana to be put to death, are Orestes, the 
brother of Iphigenia, and his friend Pylades. The first 
scene of the second act is a conversation between the 
two friends ; they are in the keeping of the king's 
guards, and they know that they are condemned to 
death. Orestes is perfectly resigned to his fate, but 
Pylades wishes to secure their escape ; he even tries to 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 119 

persuade Orestes that they have been directed to this 
very spot by the gods in order to rescue the statue of 
Diana from the temple and bear it to Delphi, there to 
enshrine it with that of Apollo, that they might be 
revered together by a noble-thoughted race. 

Orestes has no faith in this plot, and when Pylades 
tells him to wait in peace, to let him contrive, saying : — 

" Be still ! and when at length 
The time for action claims our powers combined, 
Then will I summon thee, and on we'll stride 

. With cautious boldness to achieve the event," 

Orestes answers with some sarcasm, 

I hear Ulysses speak. 

Pylades. Nay, mock me not. 

Each must select the hero after whom 
To climb the steep and difficult ascent 
Of high Olympus. And to me it seems 
That him nor stratagem, nor art defiles 
Who consecrates himself to noble deeds. 

Orestes. I must esteem the brave and upright man. 

Pylades. And therefore have I not desired thy counsel. 
One step 's already taken. From our guards 
E'en now I this intelligence have gained, — 
A strange and god-like woman holds in check 
The execution of that bloody law ; 
Incense and prayer, and an unsullied heart, — 
These are the gifts she offers to the gods. 
Rumor extols her highly : it is thought 
That from the race of Amazon she springs. 
And hither fled some great calamity. 

Orestes. Her gentle sway, it seems, lost all its power 
When hither came the culprit whom the curse. 



120 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Like murky night, envelops and pursues. 

Our doom to seal, the pious thirst for blood 
The ancient cruel rite again unchains : 
The monarch's savage will decrees our death ; 
A woman cannot save where he condemns. 

Pylades. That 'tis a woman, is a ground for hope ! 
A man, the very best, with cruelty 
At length may so familiarize his mind, 
His character through custom so transform, 
That he shall come to make himself a law 
Of what at first his very soul abhorred. 
But woman doth retain the stamp of mind 
She first assumed. On her we may depend 
In good or evil with more certainty. 
She comes : leave us alone. I dare not tell 
At once our names, nor unreserved confide 
Our fortunes to her. Now, retire awhile ; 
And ere she speaks with thee we'll meet again. 

The next scene is between Iphigenia and Pylades. 
She recognizes him as a Grecian by his bearing. She 
unbinds his chains, but tells him that the freedom she 
gives him is dangerous. He tells her how dearly wel- 
come are the tones of one's own language in a foreign 
land. In the conversation that follows he tells her a 
story, calculated to arouse her sympathy, in which he 
mentions the fall of Troy. She is greatly interested 
in this and questions him in regard to several of the 
Grecian leaders. He mentions Achilles and Ajax 
before he speaks of her father, and he wonders that she 
has not heard any of these things before. At last he 
tells her the whole story of the return of Agamemnon, 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 121 

of the snare that was laid for him by his faithless 
wife and ^gisthus who murdered him on the day of 
his arrival at his palace in Mycene. 

Iphigenia finally asks how her father had injured 
Clytemnestra, her mother, and she hears from Pylades 
the story of her own doom, which he tells her roused in 
Clytemnestra such deep abhorrence of her husband that 
she forthwith plotted against him. 

Iphigenia veils herself and withdraws. Pylades real- 
izes that the story has moved her deeply, and he begins 
to hope that he will find her an ally in his plans for 
escape. 

In the next scene Orestes is brought into the presence 
of Iphigenia, who looses his bonds as she did those of 
Pylades, but she tells him this is in token of a still 
severer doom ; that the freedom of the sanctuary which 
she grants them is but the herald of death. Then she 
asks him to conclude the tale that his brother, as she 
calls Pylades, left half told. 

Orestes tells her all about Agamemnon's death, and 
in answer to her questions about her mother, her 
brother, and her sister, he tells her that Clytemnestra 
was slain by her own son, and finally that he is the 
murderer, and that ever since the deed he has been 
pursued by the Furies, who, until he entered the conse- 
crated grove, had followed him, shaking their serpent 
locks at him. Iphigenia then tells him that she is his 
sister, and how she came to be there. He sinks down 
exhausted by the excitement he has undergone. When 
he recovers he thinks he is in the regions of the dead ; 



122 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

his madness finally passes away, and he realizes that 
his own sister is with him and Pylades has everything 
prepared for their departure. 

The first scene of the fourth act represents Iphi- 
genia in great distress because she has connived at 
their escape, and prepared to send artful answers to 
the king if he still urges the sacrifice of the two 
strangers. 

In the second scene, Arkas enters and tells her that 
the king and people wait impatiently for the conclusion 
of the sacrifice. 

Iphigenia explains to him that she has not performed 
the mandate of the king because 

"The gods have not decreed it. 
The elder of these men doth bear the guilt 
Of kindred murder : on his steps attend 
The dread Erinnyes. In the inner fane 
They seized upon their prey, polluting thus 
The holy sanctuary. I hasten now, 
Together with my virgin train, to bathe 
The goddess' image in the sea, and there 
With solemn rites its purity restore. 
Let none presume our silent march to follow ! 

/U-kas. This hindrance to the monarch I'll announce ; 
Commence not thou the rite till he permit." 

She argues with him that she has full authority in 
such a case. He tries to persuade her to send the king 
the message he wishes to hear from her. He finally 
tells her that he will go to the camp with speed and 
tell the king what has happened. When she is alone 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 123' 

again a strong revulsion of feeling comes over her. 
Deceit has become doubly detested. While she is 
communing with herself, Pylades returns to tell her 
that all is in readiness : he and Orestes have found 
their friends with a ship and they were imploring him 
to haste the parting hour. He asks her to guide him 
to the fane where he may find the image of the goddess 
and bear it to the vessel on his shoulder. She tells 
him about the messenger from the king, and that she 
is awaiting his return. Pylades fears that a new danger 
will beset them ; he cautions her to be firm, and not to 
betray them. She says : — 

" It is an honest scruple which forbids 
That I should cunningly deceive the king, 
And plunder him who was my second father." 

Pylades leaves her, promising to return soon for the 
seal of safety which he expects at her hands. 

In the fifth act, Arkas returns to the king perplexed 
and suspicious. Thoas sends him at once to summon 
Iphigenia, and then to search the shore strictly from 
a certain headland to Diana's grove, and to attack and 
seize whomever he may find. 

Iphigenia goes to the king, who asks her why the 
sacrifice is so long delayed. She tells him the story of 
their premeditated flight, and a moment later Orestes 
appears with his followers, whom he is exhorting to 
hold their ground and keep a passage open to the ship 
for him and his sister. Pylades and Arkas follow with 
drawn swords. Iphigenia begs them not to profane 



124 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Diana's sanctuary with rage and blood, and when she 
tells Orestes that he is in the presence of the king 
who has been her second father, he sheathes his sword. 
The king sends Arkas to stop the fight between his 
people and the followers of Orestes until they can 
confer. Thoas then asks Orestes to prove that he is 
the priestess' brother and Agamemnon's son. 

Orestes shows him his father's sword and offers to 
meet in single combat any one of the leaders of Thoas' 
host. 

Thoas tells him such a privilege has never been 
accorded to strangers in that country. Orestes pro- 
poses that they should introduce the custom then and 
there. 

Thoas proposes to oppose his own strength and skill 
to Orestes, but Iphigenia persuades him to take her 
testimony, assuring him that she has already demanded 
proofs of her brother's identity and that all her doubts 
and scruples have been satisfied. 

Thoas answers : — 

E'en though thy words had banished every doubt, 
And I had curbed the anger in my breast, 
Still must our arms decide. I see no peace. 
Their purpose, as thou didst thyself confess. 
Was to deprive me of Diana's image. 
And think ye I will look contented on ? 
The Greeks are wont to cast a longing eye 
Upon the treasures of barbarians, — 
A golden fleece, good steeds, or daughters fair ; 
But force and guile not always have availed 
To lead them, with their booty, safely home. 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 125 

Orestes. The image shall not be a cause of strife ! " 
We now perceive the error which the god, 
Our journey here commanding, hke a veil, 
Threw o'er our minds. His counsel I implored, 
To free me from the Furies' grisly band. 
He answered, " Back to Greece the sister bring, 
Who in the sanctuary on Tauris' shore 
Unwillingly abides ; so ends the curse ! " 
To Phoebus' sister we appHed the words. 
And he referred to thee. The bonds severe, 
Which held thee from us, holy one, are rent ; 
And thou art ours once more. At thy blest touch, 
I felt myself restored. Within thine arms. 
Madness once more around me coiled its folds, 
Crushing the marrow in my frame, and then 
Forever, like a serpent, fled to hell. 
Through thee the daylight gladdens me anew : 
The counsel of the goddess now shines forth 
In all its beauty and beneficence. 
Like to a sacred image, unto which 
An oracle immutably hath bound 
A city's welfare, thee she bore away. 
Protectress of our house, and guarded here 
Within this holy stillness, to become 
A blessing to thy brother and thy race. 
Now when each passage to escape seems closed. 
And safety hopeless, thou dost give us all. 
O king, incline thine heart to thoughts of peace ! 
Let her fulfil her mission, and complete 
The consecration of our father's house ; 
Me to their purified abode restore. 
And place upon my brow the ancient crown ! 
Requite the blessing which her presence brought thee. 
And let me now my nearer right enjoy ! 
Cunning and force, the proudest boast of man, 



126 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IJTERATURE. 

Fade in the lustre of her perfect truth ; 

Nor unrequited will a noble mind 

Leave confidence, so childhke and so pure. 

Iphigenia. Think on thy promise ; let thy heart be moved 
By what a true and honest tongue hath spoken ! 
Look on us, king ! an opportunity 
For such a noble deed not oft occurs. 
Refuse thou canst not, — give thy quick consent. 

Thoas. Then go ! 

Iphigenia. Not so, my king ! I cannot part 
Without thy blessing, or in anger from thee : 
Banish us not ! the sacred right of guests 
Still let us claim : so not eternally 
Shall we be severed. Honored and beloved 
As mine own father was, art thou by me ; 
And this impression in my soul abides, 
Let but the least among thy people bring 
Back to mine ear the tones I heard from thee, 
Or should I on the humblest see thy garb, 
I will with joy receive him as a god, 
Prepare his couch myself, beside our hearth 
Invite him to a seat, and only ask 
Touching thy fate and thee. Oh, may the gods 
To thee the merited reward impart 
Of all thy kindness and benignity ! 
Farewell ! Oh, turn thou not away, but give 
One kindly word of parting in return ! 
So shall the wind more gently swell our sails. 
And from our eyes with softened anguish flow 
The tears of separation. Fare thee well ! 
And graciously extend to me thy hand, 
In pledge of ancient friendship. 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 127 

The king takes her hand and simply says, *' Fare 
thee well ! " 

Note. — Do you consider this ending of the play artistic ? What do 
you most admire in the character of the heroine? 



PROTESILA'US. 

Immediately after the sacrifice of Iphigenia, the wind 
proving fair, the fleet made sail and brought the Gre- 
cian fleet to the coast of Troy. The Trojans met them 
and opposed their landing. Great hesitation prevailed 
among the troops as to who should be the first to set 
foot upon the enemy's soil, for the oracle had predicted 
that the one who did so would fall a sacrifice ; but it 
had also been foretold by the oracle that victory should 
finally come to that party which gave the first victim to 
the war. Protesila'us, however, disregarding the predic- 
tion, leaped on shore, and was slain by Hector. Pro- 
tesila'us had left at home his wife Laodameia, who was 
most tenderly attached to him. When the news of his 
death reached her, she implored the gods to be allowed 
to converse with him only three hours. The request 
was granted, and this interview between the living and 
the dead is the subject of the following poem by Words- 
worth. 

Hazlitt wrote of it : " It is a poem that might be read 
aloud in Elysium, and the spirits of departed heroes 
and sages would gather round to listen to it." 

The original source of the story is found in the 
second book of the '' Iliad," as follows : — 



128 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

" The men of Phylace, of Pyrasus, — 
Sacred to Ceres and o'erspread with flowers, 
And of Itona, mother of white flocks, 
Antrona on the sea, and Pteleum green 
With herbage, — over these while yet he Hved 
The brave Protesilaus ruled ; but now 
The dark earth covered him, and for his sake 
His consort, desolate in Phylace, 
Tore her fair cheeks, and all unfinished 
Stood his palace, for a Dardan warrior slew 
Her husband as he leaped upon the land, 
The foremost of the Achaians." 

LA-OD-A-ME'-IA. 

Wordsworth. 

" With sacrifice, before the rising morn 

Performed, my slaughtered lord have I required. 

And in thick darkness, amid shades forlorn, 
Him of the infernal gods have I desired : 

Celestial pity I again implore. 

Restore him to my sight, great Jove, restore ! " 

So speaking, and by fervent love endowed 

With faith, the suppliant heavenward Hfts her hands ; 

While, like the sun emerging from a cloud, 

Her countenance brightens and her eye expands ; 

Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows ; 

And she expects the issue in repose. 

O terror ! what hath she perceived? O joy ! 

What doth she look on ? whom doth she behold ? 
Her hero slain upon the beach of Troy ? 

His vital presence? his corporeal mould? 
It is — if sense deceive her not — 'tis he ! 
And a god leads him, winged Mercury ! 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 129 

Mild Hermes spake, and touched her with his wand 

That calms all fear : " Such grace hath crowned thy prayer, 

Laodameia, that at Jove's command 

Thy husband walks the paths of upper air ; 

He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space ; 

Accept the gift, behold him face to face ! " 

Forth sprang the impassioned queen her lord to clasp ; 

Again that consummation she essayed ; 
But unsubstantial form eludes her grasp 

As often as that eager grasp was made. 
The phantom parts, but parts to reunite, 
And reassume his place before her sight. 

" Protesilaus, lo ! thy guide is gone ! 

Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice : 
This is our palace, yonder is thy throne; 

Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice. 
Not to appall me have the gods bestowed 
This precious boon, and blest a sad abode." 

" Great Jove, Laodameia, doth not leave 

His gifts imperfect. Spectre though I be, 
I am not sent to scare thee or deceive ; 

But in reward of thy fidelity. 
And something also did my worth obtain ; 
For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain. 

" Thou knowest the Delphic oracle foretold 

That the first Greek who touched the Trojan strand 

Should die ; but me the threat could not withhold. 
A generous cause a victim did demand ; 

And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain ; 

A self-devoted chief — by Hector slain," 



130 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

" Supreme of heroes — bravest, noblest, best ! 

Thy matchless courage I bewail no more. 
Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest 

By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore ; 
Thou found'st, and I forgive thee — here thou art- 
A nobler counsellor than my poor heart. 

." But thou, though capable of sternest deed, 
Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave ; 

And he whose power restores thee hath decreed 
Thou shouldst elude the malice of the grave : 

Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair 

As when their breath enriched Thessalian air." 

" This visage tells thee that my doom is past : 
Know, virtue were not virtue, if the joys 

Of sense were able to return as fast 

And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys 

Those raptures duly, Erebus disdains ; 

Calm pleasures there abide, majestic pains. 

" Be taught, O faithful consort, to control 
Rebellious passion : for the gods approve 

The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul ; 
A fervent, not ungovernable, love. 

Thy transports moderate ; and meekly mourn 

When I depart, for brief is my sojourn." 

" Ah, wherefore ? Did not Hercules by force 
Wrest from the guardian monster of the tomb 

Alcestis, a reanimated corse, 

Given back to dwell on earth in beauty's bloom ? 

Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years, 

And ^son stood a youth 'mid youthful peers. 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 131 

" The gods to us are merciful, and they 
Yet further may relent ; for mightier far 

Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway 
Of magic potent over sun and star. 

Is love, though oft to agony distrest, 

And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's breast. 

''But if thou goest, I follow." — " Peace ! " he said. 

She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered. 
The ghastly color from his lips had fled ; 

In his deportment, shape, and mien appeared 
Elysian beauty, melancholy grace. 
Brought from a pensive though a happy place 

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel 
In worlds whose course is equable and pure ; 

No fears to beat away, no strife to heal, 
The past unsighed for, and the future sure ; 

Spake of heroic arts in graver mood 

Revived, with finer harmony pursued ; 

Of all that is most beauteous imaged there 
In happier beauty : more pellucid streams. 

An ampler ether, a diviner air. 

And fields invested with purpureal gleams ; 

Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day 

Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey. 

Yet there the soul shall enter which hath earned 
That privilege by virtue. " 111," said he, 

" The end of man's existence I discerned. 
Who from ignoble games and revelry 

Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight. 

While tears were thy best pastime, day and night : 



132 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

" And while my youthful peers before my eyes 
(Each hero following his peculiar bent) 

Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise 
By martial sports, or, seated in the tent, 

Chieftains and kings in counsel were detained, 

What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained. 

" The wished-for wind was given : I then revolved 

The oracle, upon the silent sea ; 
And, if no worthier led the way, resolved 

That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be 
The foremost prow in pressing to the strand, 
Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand. 

" Yet bitter, ofttimes bitter was the pang 
When of thy loss I thought, beloved wife ! 

On thee too fondly did my memory hang, 
And on the joys we shared in mortal life. 

The paths which we have trod — these fountains, flowers 

My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers. 

" But should suspense permit the foe to cry, 
' Behold, they tremble ! haughty their array. 

Yet of their number no one dares to die ' ? 
In soul I swept the indignity away : 

Old frailties then recurred ; but lofty thought. 

In act embodied, my deliverance wrought. 

^' And thou, though strong in love, art all too weak ; 

In reason, in self-government too slow ; 
I counsel thee by fortitude to seek 

Our blest reunion in the shades below. 
The invisible world with thee hath sympathized ; 
Be thy afi"ections raised and solemnized. 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 133 

*' Learn by a mortal yearning to ascend 
Towards a higher object. Love was given, 

Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end ; 
For this the passion to' excess was driven — 

That self might be annulled : her bondage prove 

The fetters of a dream, opposed to love." 

Aloud she shrieked ! for Hermes reappears ! 

Round the dear shade she would have clung — 'tis vain, 
The hours are past, too brief had they been years — 

And him no mortal effort can detain. 
Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day. 
He through the portal takes his silent way. 
And on the palace floor a lifeless corse she lay. 

Ah, judge her gently who so deeply loved ! 

Her, who in reason's spite, yet without crime. 
Was in a trance of passion thus removed ; 

Delivered from the gaUing yoke of time 
And these frail elements, to gather flowers 
Of bhssful quiet 'mid unfading bowers. 

Yet tears to human suffering are due ; 

And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown 
Are mourned by man ; and not by man alone, 

As fondly he believes. Upon the side 
Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained) 

A knot of spiry trees for ages grew 
From out the tomb of him for whom she died ; 
And ever when such stature they had gained 

That IHum's walls were subject to their view. 
The trees' taU summits withered at the sight : 
A constant interchange of growth and blight. 



134 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

ORPHEUS. 

Music took very high rank among the arts most 
loved and cultivated by the ancient Greeks ; their 
poets have rendered the fame of Orpheus, as a 
musician, second only to that of his father, Apollo. 

Frequent allusions to this myth are made by the 
greatest of our English poets. Milton closes both 
'* L' Allegro " and *' II Penseroso " with some fine lines 
relating to Orpheus, which we quote : — 

" And ever against eating cares, 
Lap me in soft Lydian airs, 
Married to immortal verse 
Such as the meeting soul may pierce. 
In notes, with many a winding bout 
Of linked sweetness long drawn out. 
With wanton heed and giddy cunning ; 
The melting voice through mazes running, 
Untwisting all the chains that tie 
The hidden soul of harmony ; 
That Orpheus' self may heave his head 
From golden slumber on a bed 
Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear 
Such strains, as would have won the ear 
Of Pluto, to have quite set free 
His half-regained Eurydice." — L Allegro. 

" But, O sad Virgin, that thy power 
Might raise Museus from his bower ! 
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 
Such notes, as, warbled to the string, 
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek. 
And made hell grant what love did seek." — II Pensei'oso. 

Shakspeare also shows his appreciation of the old 
story in two of his plays. 




Such strains as would have won the ear 
Of Pluto to have quite set free 
The half-regained Eurydice." 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 135 

In ''Henry VIII.," Act III., Scene I., one of Kath- 
arine's waiting-women, at her request, sings to enliven 
their sadness. This is the song : — 

" Orpheus, with his lute, made trees, 
And the mountain-tops that freeze, 

Bow themselves when he did sing ; 
To his music, plants and flowers 
Ever sprung ; as sun and showers 

There had made a lasting spring. 

" Everything that heard him play, 
Even the billows of the sea, 

Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
In sweet music is such art, 
Killing care and grief of heart 

Fall asleep, or, hearing, die." 

In ''Merchant of Venice," Act V., Scene I., Lo- 
renzo and Jessica are talking about the effect of music ; 
after an eloquent rhapsody on the subject by Lorenzo, 
Jessica says, " I am never merry when I hear sweet 
music." 

Lorenzo attempts to explain why this is so, and cites 
the effect of music upon a herd, or race of unhandled 
colts, saying : — 

" If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, 
Or any air of music touch their ears. 
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze, 
By the sweet power of music. Therefore the poet 
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ; 
Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage, 
But music for the time doth change his nature." 



136 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

That the myth is capable of humorous treatment will 
be seen in the following poem by J. G. Saxe. 

ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. 

John G. Saxe. 

Sir Orpheus, whom the poets have sung 

In every metre and every tongue, 

Was, you may remember, a famous musician, — 

At least for a youth in his pagan condition, — 

For historians tell he played on his shell 

From morning till night, so remarkably well 

That his music created a regular spell 

On trees and stones in forest and dell ! 

What sort of an instrument his could be 

Is really more than is known to me, — 

For none of the books have told, d'ye see ! 

It's very certain those heathen " swells " 

Knew nothing at all of oyster-shells. 

And it's clear Sir Orpheus never could own a 

Shell like those they" make in Cremona; 

But whatever it was, to '' move the stones," 

It must have shelled out some powerful tones, 

******** 

But alas for the joys of this mutable life ! 
Sir Orpheus lost his beautiful wife — 
Eurydice — who vanished one day 
From Earth in a very unpleasant way ! 
It chanced as near as I can determine, 
Through one of those vertebrated vermin 
That lie in the grass so prettily curled, 
Waiting to "snake " you out of the world ! 
And the poets tell she went to — well — 
A place where Greeks and Romans dwell 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 137 

After they burst their mortal shell ; 

A region that in the deepest shade is, 

And known by the classical name of Hades, — 



Now having a heart uncommonly stout, 
Sir Orpheus didn't go whining about. 
But made up his mind to fiddle her out ! 

TV ^ "^ ^ ■St^ TP "Sp" 

And then he played so remarkably fine 
That it really might be called divine, — 
For who can show on earth or below. 
Such wonderful feats in the musical line ? 



And still Sir Orpheus chanted his song, 
Sweet and clear and strong and long, 

'' Eurydice ! Eurydice ! " 
He cried as loud as loud could be ; 
And Echo, taking up the word. 
Kept it up till the lady heard, 
And came with joy to meet her lord. 
And he led her along the infernal route 
Until he had almost got her out, 
When, suddenly turning his head about 
(To take a peep at his wife, no doubt). 
He gave a groan, for the lady was gone. 
And had left him standing there all alone ! 
For by an oath the gods had bound 
Sir Orpheus not to look around 
Till he was clear of the sacred ground. 
If he'd have Eurydice safe and sound ; 



138 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

A STORY TOLD BY MERCURY TO ARGUS. 

There was a certain nymph whose name was Syrinx, 
— much beloved by the satyrs and spirits of the wood. 
She favored none of them, for she was a faithful wor- 
shipper of Diana, and followed the chase. Pan, meet- 
ing her one day, wooed her with many compliments, 
likening her to Diana of the silver bow. Without stop- 
ping to hear him, she ran away ; but on the bank of 
a river he overtook her. She called for help on her 
friends, the water-nymphs, who heard and saved her; 
for when Pan threw his arms around what he supposed 
to be the form of the nymph, he found only a tuft of 
reeds. 

As he breathed a sigh, the air sounded through the 
reeds, and produced a plaintive melody. Whereupon, 
the god, charmed with the novelty and with the sweet 
ness of the music, said, " Thus, then, at least, you shall 
be mine." Taking some of the reeds of unequal lengths, 
and placing them together side by side, he made an in- 
strument, and called it Syrinx in honor of the nymph. 

Note. — This instrument is also called the Pandean Pipes. 



A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT. 

Mrs. Browning. 
I. 

What was he doing, the great god Pan, 

Down in the reeds by the river ? 
Spreading ruin and scattering ban. 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 139 

Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat 
And breaking the golden lilies afloat 
With the dragon-fly on the river? . 

II. 

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, 

From the deep cool bed of the river. 
The limpid water turbidly ran, 
And the broken lilies a-dying lay, 
And the dragon-fly had fled away, 

Ere he brought it out of the river. 

III. 

High on the shore sate the great god Pan, 

While turbidly flowed the river, 
And hacked and hewed as a great god can 
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, 
Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed 

To prove it fresh from the river. 

IV. 

He cut it short, did the great god Pan, 

(How tall it stood in the river !) 
Then drew the pith like the heart of a man 
Steadily from the outside ring, 
Then notched the poor, dry, empty thing , 

In holes as he sate by the river. 

V. 

"This is the way," laughed the great god Pan, 

(Laughed while he sate by the river !) 
" The only way since gods began 
To make sweet music, they could succeed." 
Then dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, 
He blew in power by the river ! 



140 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

VI. 

Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan, 

Piercing sweet by the river ! 
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan ! 
The sun on the hill forgot to die, 
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly 

Came back to dream on the river. 

VII. 

Yet half a beast is the great god Pan 

To laugh as he sits by the river, 
Making a poet out of a man. 
The true gods sigh for the cost and the pain — 
For the reed that grows never more again 

As a reed with the reeds of the river. 

The musical instrument most used by the Greeks was 
the lyre, to which frequent allusions are made by all 
poets. The origin of this famous instrument is of 
course mythical, and is very prettily told by James 
Russell Lowell in the following poem : — 



THE FINDING OF THE LYRE. 

There lay upon the ocean's shore 
What once a tortoise served to cover. 
A year and more, with rush and roar. 
The surf had rolled it over, 
Had played with it, and flung it by. 
As wind and weather might decide it, 
Then tossed it high where sand-drifts dry 
Cheap burial might provide it. 




O, empty world that round us lies! 
Brought we hut eyes like Mercury' s, 
In thee what songs would waken.'' 



EVENTS PRECEDING THE TROJAN WAR. 141 

It rested there to bleach or tan, 

The rains had soaked, the suns had burned it ; 

With many a ban the fisherman 

Had stumbled o'er and spurned it ; 

And there the fisher-girl would stay, 

Conjecturing with her brother 

How in their play the poor estray 

Might serve some use or other. 

So there it lay, through wet and dry, 

As empty as the last new sonnet. 

Till by and by came Mercury, 

And having mused upon it, 

" Why, here," cried he, " the thing of things. 

In shape, material, and dimension ! 

Give it but strings, and lo, it sings, 

A wonderful invention ! " 

So said, so done ; the cords he strained, 
And, as his fingers o'er them hovered. 
The shell disdained a soul had gained. 
The lyre had been discovered. 
O empty world that round us Hes, 
Dead shell, of soul and thought forsaken, 
Brought we but eyes like Mercury's, 
In thee what songs should waken ! 

Compare this poem with the following 

THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP. 

Thomas Moore. 

'Tis beUeved that this Harp, which I now wake for thee. 
Was a Siren of old, who sung under the sea. 
And who often at eve, through the bright waters roved. 
To meet on the green shore a youth whom she loved. 



142 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

But she loved him in vain, for he left her to weep, 
And in tears, all the night, her gold tresses to steep ; 
Till heaven looked with pity on true love so warm, 
And changed to this soft Harp the sea-maiden's form. 

Still her form rises fair — still her cheeks smile the same — 
While her sea-beauties gracefully form'd the light frame, 
And her hair, as, let loose, o'er her white arm it fell, 
Was changed to bright chords utt'ring melody's spell. 

Hence it came, that this soft Harp so long hath been known 

To mingle love's language with sorrow's sad tone 

Till thou didst divide them, and teach the fond lay 

To speak love when I'm near thee, and grief when away. 



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GROUP IV. 

THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 



There have been many translations into English 
verse of "The Tale of Troy Divine," as the *' Iliad " of 
Homer has been called, since George Chapman (1557- 
1634), the pioneer in this field of literary effort, made 
the one which called forth the following famous sonnet : 

ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. 

John Keats. 

Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, 
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; 
Round many western islands have I been 
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. 
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne ; 
Yet never did I breathe its pure serene 
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : 
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 
When a new planet swims into his ken ; 
Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes 
He stared at the Pacific — and all his men 
143 



144 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Looked at each other with a wild surmise — 
Silent, upon a peak in Darien. 

It is difficult to estimate the service done to our litera- 
ture by means of these translations. 

Richard Malcolm Johnston, in his history of English 
literature, says: "We have seen how numerous were 
the translations of the Greek and Roman authors in the 
former years of Elizabeth's reign. These translations 
were the classics to him (Shakspeare) and his contem- 
poraries ; and through them they became acquainted 
with the habits and sentiments of the ancients." 

As Chapman's Homer has been the delight of gen- 
erations of readers, so also has Pope's translation of the 
''Iliad" and ''Odyssey," completed in 1725 after ten 
years spent on the work. 

Cowper's translation of the "Iliad" and "Odyssey" 
was made toward the close of the eighteenth century. 
A recent criticism of his translation says it is " accurate, 
finished, with some of the fire of the original." 

Bryant's translation of Homer was begun in 1865 
and completed in 1871. 

A comparison of these different translations may be 
made most interesting. Those who like to read blank 
verse will prefer Cowper's or Bryant's version, while 
those who enjoy the rhymed couplet will find in Chap- 
man's and Pope's translations the smoothness and the 
musical quality belonging to that form of poetry. Many 
scholars think a literal prose translation the best of 
all, and that eminent classical scholars make use of 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES, 145 

translations for their own private reading is unques- 
tioned. 

Emerson says, " I do not hesitate to read Homer, 
yEschylus, Herodotus, Plato, Plutarch — and all good 
books in translation. I should as soon think of swim- 
ming across Charles River when I want to go to 
Boston, as of reading all my books in originals when 
I have them rendered for me in my mother tongue." 

It will be seen by a comparison of a single scene 
from the '* Iliad " by several translators that there is a 
faithful rendering of the thought by all of them, and 
if the translator gives us the soul of the original, that 
ought to content the most critical of readers. 

THE NIGHT ENCAMPMENT OF THE TROJANS. 

The Closing Lines of Book VIH., the "Iliad." 

Pope's Translation. 

The troops, exulting, sat in order round, 
And beaming fires illumined all the ground, — 
As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night ! 
O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light ; 
When not a breath disturbs the deep serene. 
And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene ; 
Around her throne the vivid planets roll, 
And stars unnumbered gild the glowing pole ; 
O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed. 
And tip with silver every mountain's head ; 
Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, 
A flood of glory bursts from all the skies : 
The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight, 
Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light. 



H6 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

So many flames before proud Ilion blaze, 
And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays ; 
The long reflections of the distant fires 
Gleam on the walls and tremble on the spires. 
A thousand piles the dusky horrors gild, 
And shoot a shady lustre o'er the field. 
Full fifty guards each flaming fire attend, 
Whose umbered arms, by fits, thick flashes send ; 
Loud neigh the coursers o'er their heaps of corn, 
And ardent warriors wait the rising morn. 

Cowper's translation of the same passage of the 
''Iliad": — 

Big with great purposes and proud, they sat. 
Not disarrayed, but in fair form disposed 
* Of even ranks, and watched their numerous fires. 

As when around the clear bright moon, the stars 
Shine in full splendor, and the winds are hushed, 
The groves, the mountain tops, the headland heights 
Stand all apparent, not a vapor streaks 
The boundless blue, but ether opened wide 
All glitters, and the shepherd's heart is cheerful ; — 
So numerous seem those fires between the stream 
Of Xanthus, blazing, and the fleet of Greece, 
In prospect of all Troy ; a thousand fires, 
Each watched by fifty warriors seated near. 
The steeds beside the chariots stood, their corn 
Chewing, and waiting till the golden-throned 
Aurora should restore the light of day. 

Tennyson has translated this same passage of the 
'* Iliad " as follows : — 

So Hector said, and sea-like roar'd his host ; 
Then loosed their sweating horses from the yoke 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 147 

And each beside his chariot bound his own ; 

And oxen from the city, and goodly sheep 

In haste they drove, and honey-hearted wine 

And bread from out the houses brought, and heap'd 

Their firewood, and the winds from off the plain 

Roll'd the rich vapor far into the heaven. 

And there all night upon the bridge of war 

Sat glorying ; many a fire before them blazed ; 

As when in heaven the stars about the moon 

Look beautiful, when all the winds are laid, 

And every height comes out, and jutting peak 

And valley, and the immeasurable heavens 

Break open to their highest, and all the stars 

Shine, and the shepherd gladdens in his heart : 

So many a fire between the ships and stream 

Of Xanthus blazed before the towers of Troy, 

A thousand on the plain ; and close by each 

Sat fifty in the blaze of burning fire ; 

And champing golden grain, the horses stood 

Hard by their chariots, waiting for the dawn. 

Compare these versions of this bit of Homer with 
Bryant's : — 

So Hector spake, and all the Trojan host 
Applauded ; from the yoke forthwith they loosed 
The sweaty steeds, and bound them to the cars 
With halters ; to the town they sent in haste 
For oxen and the fatlings of the flock. 
And to their homes for bread and pleasant wine. 
And gathered fuel in large store. The winds 
Bore up the fragrant fumes from earth to heaven. 
So high in hope, they sat the whole night through 
In warlike lines, and many watch-fires blazed. 
As when in heaven the stars look brightly forth 



148 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Round the clear-shining moon, while not a breeze 

Stirs in the depths of air, and all the stars 

Are seen, and gladness fills the shepherd's heart, 

So many fires in sight of Ilium blazed, 

Lit by the sons of Troy, between the ships 

And eddying Xanthus : on the plain there shone 

A thousand ; fifty warriors by each fire 

Sat in the light. Their steeds beside the cars — 

Champing their oats and their white barley — stood 

And waited for the golden morn to rise. 

PHILOCTETES. 

In the second book of the ''Iliad" the poet sings the 
commanders and the ships of the Grecian fleet. In this 
wonderful catalogue we find the outline of the story 
that Sophocles has used so effectively in his drama, in 
a few lines : — 

'' Those from Methone and Olizon's rocks, 
And Meliboea and Thaumacia, filled 
Seven ships, with Philoctetes for their chief, 
A warrior skilled to bend the bow. Each bark 
Held fifty rowers, bowmen all, and armed 
For stubborn battle. But their leader lay 
Far in an island, suffering grievous pangs, — 
The hallowed isle of Lemnos. There the Greeks 
Left him, in torture from a venomed wound 
Made by a serpent's fangs. He lay and pined. 
Yet was the moment near when they who thus 
Forsook their king should think of him again. 
Meantime his troops were not without a chief. 
Though greatly they desired their ancient lord ; 
For now the base-born Medon marshalled them. 
Son of Oileus." 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 149 

Plumptre's translation of the drama of Philoctetes is 
prefaced by the following argument : " Philoctetes, son 
of Poeas, king of the Melians of CEta in Thessaly, 
having been one of the suitors of Helen, the daughter 
of Tyndareus, and being bound by an oath to defend 
her in case of wrong (as were all the other suitors), 
joined the great expedition of the Greeks against Troy. 
And as he landed at Chryse, treading rashly on the 
sacred ground of the nymph from whom the island took 
its name, he was bitten in the foot by a serpent ; the 
wound became so noisome, and the cries of his agony 
so. sharp, that the host could not endure his presence, 
and sent him in charge of Odysseus to Lemnos, and 
there he was left. And nine years passed away, and 
Achilles had died, and Hector and Aias (Ajax), and yet 
Troy was not taken. But the Greeks took prisoner 
Helenos, a son of Priam, who had the gift of prophecy, 
and they learnt from him that it was decreed that it should 
never be taken but by the son of Achilles and with the 
bow of Heracles. Now this bow was in the hands of 
Philoctetes, for Heracles loved him because he found 
him faithful ; and when he died on CEta, it was Philoc- 
tetes who climbed up the hill with him, and prepared 
the funeral pyre, and kindled it: therefore Heracles 
gave him his bow and arrows. 

"When the Greeks heard this prophecy they first sent 
to Skyros to fetch Neoptolemos, the son of Achilles, 
and then, when he had arrived, they despatched him 
with Odysseus to bring Philoctetes from Lemnos." 

Note. — Throughout this play the Greek proper naines are used, as 
Odysseus for Ulysses, Heracles for Hercules. 



150 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

PHILOCTE'TES. 

Sophocles. [Plumptre's Translation.] 

Scene. — The shore of Lemnos. 

Odysseus. Here, then, we reach this shore of sea-girt isle, 
Of Lemnos, by the foot of man untrod, 
Without inhabitant, where, long ago, 
I set on shore the Melian, Poeas' son, 
His foot all ulcerous with an eating sore, 
Sent on this errand by the chiefs that rule j 
For never were we able tranquilly 
To join in incense- offerings, nor to pour 
Libations, but with clamor fierce and wild 
He harassed all the encampment, shouting loud, 
And groaning low. What need to speak of this ? 
It is no time for any length of speech, 
Lest he should hear of my approach, and I 
Upset the whole contrivance wherewithal 
I think to take him. But thy task it is 
To do thine office now, and search out well 
Where lies a cavern here with double mouth. 
Where in the winter twofold sunny side 
Is found to sit in, while in summer heat 
The breeze sends slumber through the tunnelled vault. 
And just below, a httle to the left. 
Thou may'st, perchance, a stream of water see, 
If it still flow there. Go, and show in silence 
If he is dwelling in this self-same spot. 
Or wanders elsewhere, that in all that comes 
Thou may'st give heed to me, and I may speak. 
And common counsels work for good from both. 

Neoptokmos. O King Odysseus, no far task thou giv'st, 
For such a cave, methinks, I see hard by. 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 151 

Odys. Clearly the man is dwelling in this spot, 
And is not distant. How could one so worn 
With that old evil in his foot go far ? 
But either he is gone in search of food, 
Or knows, perchance, some herb medicinal ; 
And therefore send this man to act the scout, 
Lest he should come upon me unawares. 
For he would rather seize on me than take 
All other Argives. [^Exit attendant'] 

Neop. He is gone to watch 
The path. If aught thou needest, speak again. 

Odys. Now should'st thou prove thyself Achilles' son, 
Stout-hearted for the task for which thou cam'st. 
Not in thy body only, but if thou 

Should'st hear strange things, by thee unknown till now. 
Still give thy help as subaltern to me. 

Neop. What dost thou bid me ? 

Odys. Thou must cheat and trick 
The heart of Philoctetes with thy words ; 
And when he asks thee who and what thou art. 
Say thou'rt Achilles' son (that hide thou not). 
And that thou sailest homeward, leaving there 
The Achaeans' armament ; with bitter hate 
Hating them all, who having sent to beg 
Thy coming with their prayers, as having this 
Their only way to capture Ilion's towers, 
Then did not deign to grant thee, seeking them 
With special claims, our great Achilles' arms. 
But gave them to Odysseus. What thou wilt, 
Say thou against me to the utmost ill ; 
In this thou wilt not grieve me ; but if thou 
Wilt not do this, on all the Argive host 
Thou wilt bring sorrow ; for, unless we get 
His bow and arrows, it will not be thine 
To sack the plain of Dardanos. And how 



152 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

I cannot have, and thou may'st have access 

To him both safe and trustworthy, learn this ; 

For thou hast sailed as bound by oath to none. 

Not by constraint, nor with the earlier host. 

But none of all these things can I deny \ 

So, if he sees me while he holds his bow, 

I perish, and shall cause thy death as well. 

But this one piece of craft thou needs must work. 

That thou may'st steal those arms invinciljle. 

I know, O boy, thy nature is not apt 

To speak such things, nor evil guile devise ; 

But sweet it is to gain the conqueror's prize ; 

Therefore be bold. Hereafter once again, 

We will appear in sight of all as just. 

But now for one short day give me thyself, 

And cast off shame, and then in time to come, 

Be honored, as of all men most devout. 

Neop. The things, O son of Lartios, which I grieve 
To hear in words, those same I hate to do. 
I was not born to act with evil arts. 
Nor I myself, nor, as they say, my sire. 
Prepared I am to take the man by force, 
And not by fraud ; for he with one weak foot 
Will fail in strength to master force like ours ; 
And yet, being sent thy colleague, I am loth 
To get the name of traitor ; but I wish, 
O King, to miss my mark in acting well, 
Rather than conquer, acting evilly. 

Odys. O son of noble sire, I, too, when young, 
Had a slow tongue and ready-working hand ; 
But now, by long experience, I have found 
Not deeds, but words prevail at last with men. 

Neop. But what is all thou bid'st me say but lies? 

Odys. I bid thee Philoctetes take with guile. 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 153 

Odysseus finally persuades Neoptolemos that though 
he is destined to take Troy, he cannot do it without the 
bow and arrows of Philoctete's. When Neoptolemos 
realizes this he says : — 

" Come then, I'll do it, casting off all shame." 

The chorus then advances, and in the strophe and 
antistrophe that follow, Neoptolemos learns all about 
the habits of Philoctetes and the wretched life he leads 
in this desolate place. 

\_Enter Philoctetes, in worn and tattered raiment?^ 

Ho, there, my friends ! 
Who are ye that have come to this, our shore, 
And by what chance ! for neither is it safe 
To anchor in, nor yet inhabited. 
What may I guess your country and your race? 
Your outward guise and dress of Hellas speak, 
To me most dear, and yet I fain would hear 
Your speech ; and draw not back from me indeed, 
As fearing this my wild and savage look, 
But pity one unhappy, left alone, 
Thus helpless, friendless, worn with many ills. 
Speak, if it be ye come to me as friends : 
Nay, answer me, it is not meet that I 
Should fail of this from you, nor ye from me. 

Neop. Know this then first, O stranger, that we come. 
Of Hellas all ; for this thou seek'st to know. 

Phil. O dear-loved sound ! Ah me ! what joy it is 
After long years to hear a voice like thine ! 
What led thee hither, what need brought thee here? 
Whither thy voyage, what blest wind bore thee on ? 
Tell all, that I may know thee who thou art. 



154 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Neop. By birth I come from sea-girt Skyros' isle, 
And I sail homeward, I, Achilles' son, 
Named Neoptolemos. Now know'st thou all. 

Phil. O son of dearest father, much-loved land, 
Thou darling boy of Lycomedes old. 
Whence saihng, whither bound, hast thou steered hither? 

Neop. At present I from Ilion make my voyage. 

Phil. What say'st thou? Thou wast surely not with us 
A sailor when the fleet to Ilion came ? 

Neop. What ? Did'st thou, too, share that great enterprise ? 

Phil. And know'st thou not, O boy, whom thou dost see ? 

Neop. How can I know a man I ne'er beheld ? 

Phil. And did'st thou never hear my name, nor fame 
Of these my ills, in which I pined away? 

Neop. Know that I nothing know of what thou ask'st. 

Phil. O crushed with many woes and of the gods 
Hated am I, of whom in this my woe. 
No rumor travelled homeward, nor went forth 
Through any clime of Hellas ! But the men 
Who cast me out in scorn of hohest laws 
Laugh in their sleeve, and this my sore disease 
Still grows apace, and passes into worse. 
My son, O boy that call'st Achilles sire, 
Lo ! I am he of whom perchance thou heard'st. 
That I possess the arms of Heracles, 
The son of Poeas, Philoctetes, whom 
Our generals twain and Kephallene's king 
Basely cast forth, thus desolate, worn out 
Through fierce disease, with bite of murderous snake, 
Fierce bite, sore smitten ; and with that, O boy. 
Thus desolate they left me, when they touched 
From sea-girt Chryse in their armament ; 
And when they saw me, tired and tempest-worn, 
Asleep in vaulted cave upon the shore, 
(jladly the)^ went, and left me, giving me 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 155 

Some wretched rags that might a beggar suit, 

And some small store of food they chanced to have. 

And thou, my son, what kind of waking up 

Think'st thou I had, when I arose from sleep. 

And found them gone, — what bitter tears I wept. 

What groans of woe I uttered ? when I saw 

The ships all gone, with which till then I sailed, 

And no man on the spot to give me aid. 

Nor help me, struggling with my sore disease ; 

And, looking all around, I nothing found 

But pain and torment, and of this, my son. 

Full plenteous store. And so the years went on, 

Month after month, and in this lonely cell 

I needs must wait upon myself. My bow 

Found what my hunger needed, striking down 

The swift-winged doves, but whatsoe'er the dart, 

Sent from the string, might hit, to that, poor I 

Must wend my way, and drag my wretched foot, 

Even to that ; and if I wanted drink, 

Or, when the frost was out in winter- time 

Had need to cleave my firewood, this poor I 

Crept out, and fetched. And then no fire had I, 

But rubbing stone with stone I brought to light. 

Not without toil, the spark deep hid within ; 

And this e'en now preserves me ; for a cell 

To dwell in, if one has but fire, provides 

All that I need, except release from pain. 

And now, my son, learn thou this island's tale : 

No sailor here approaches wilhngly. 

For neither is there harbor, nor a town. 

Where saihng he may profit gain, or lodge. 

No men of prudence make their voyage here ; 

Yet some, perchance, may come against their will ; 

(Such things will happen in the lapse of years ;) 

And these, my son, when they do come, in words 



156 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Show pity on me, and perchance they give 

Some food in their compassion, and some clothes j 

But none is wilhng when I mention that, 

To take me safely home, but here poor I 

Wear out my life, for nine long years and more, 

In hunger and distress this eating sore 

Still nursing. Such the deeds the Atreid^ did. 

And great Odysseus. May the Olympian gods 

Give them to bear like recompense for this ! 

Neop. And I myself am witness to thy words, 
And know that they are true, for I have found 
The Atreidse and the great Odysseus base. 

Phil. What ! Hast thou too a grudge against those vile ones } 
The Atreidae, that thy wrongs have stirred thy rage ? 

Neop. I'll tell thee, Poeas' son, though scarce I can, 
What I endured of outrage at their hands ; 
For when the Fates decreed Achilles' death, — 

Phil. Ah me ! Speak nothing further till I learn 
This first ; and is the son of Peleus dead ? 

Neop. Dead is he, not by any man shot down, 
But by a god, — by Phoebus, as they say. 

Phil. Well, noble he that slew, and he that fell ; 
And I, my son, am much in doubt, if first 
To ask thy sufferings, or to mourn for him. 

Neop. Thine own misfortunes are enough, I trow ; 
Thou need'st not sorrow o'er thy neighbor's lot. 

Phil. Thou sayest well, and therefore tell again 
That business in the which they outraged thee. 

Neoptolemos then tells Philoctetes a long story about 
the disposal of his father's arms, which had been given 
to Odysseus, and which Neoptolemos claimed. He 
expresses the strongest hatred for the injustice of Odys- 
seus; and Philoctetes, believing everything evil of the 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 157 

latter, still wonders that Ajax, the elder, should have 
seen these things and borne them. 

Neoptolemos tells him that Aias (Ajax) is dead, and 
then he inquires for the aged Nestor and his son Antilo- 
chus. Hearing that the latter is also dead, he asks for 
Patroclus, whom Achilles loved so well. When told of 
his death, also, he wonders that war can take such men 
as these and spare such scoundrels as Odysseus. 

Neoptolemos then tells him that he is going to his 
ship to set sail for rocky Skyros, where for the future 
he will take his ease at home. 

Now to my ship I go. And thou, O son 
Of Poeas, fare thee well, good luck be thine, 
And may the gods release thee from thy pain, 
As thou desirest ! Now then let us start ; 
When god fair weather gives us, then we sail. 

Phil. And do ye start already ? 

Neop. Yes ; the time 

Bids us our voyage think near, and not far oif. 

Phil. By thy dear sire and mother, I, my son. 
Implore thee as a suppliant, by all else 
To thee most dear, thus lonely leave me not, 
Abandoned to these evils which thou see'st, 
With which thou hearest that I still abide ; 
But think of me as thrown on you by chance : 
Right well I know how noisome such a freight ; 
Yet still do thou endure it. Noble souls 
Still find the base is hateful, and the good 
Is full of glory. And for thee, my son, 
Leaving me here comes shame that is not good ; 
But doing what I ask thee thou shalt have 
Thy meed of greatest honor, should I reach 



158 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Alive and well the shores of CEta's land. 

Come, come ! The trouble lasts not one whole day : 

Take heart ; receive me ; put me where thou wilt, 

In hold, or stern, or stem, where least of all 

I should molest my fellow-passengers. 

Ah, by great Zeus, the supphant's god, consent ; 

I pray thee, hearken. On my knees I beg, 

Lame though I be and powerless in my limbs. 

Nay, leave me not thus desolate, away 

From every human footstep. Bring me safe, 

Or to my home, or where Chalkodon holds 

His seat in fair Euboea : thence the sail 

To GEta and the ridge of Trachis steep, 

And fair Sperchios is not far for me. 

That thou mayest show me to my father dear. 

Of whom long since I've feared that he perchance 

Has passed away. For many messages 

I sent to him by those who hither came, 

Yea, suppliant prayers that he would hither send. 

Himself, to fetch me home. But either he 

Is dead, or else, as happens oft with men 

Who errands take, they holding me, 'twould seem, 

In slight account, pushed on their homeward voyage. 

But now, for here I come to thee as one 

At once my escort and my messenger. 

Be thou my helper, my deliverer thou. 

Seeing all things full of fear and perilous chance. 

Or to fare well, or fall in evil case ; 

And one that's free from sorrow should look out 

For coming dangers, and, when most at ease, 

Should then keep wariest watch upon his life. 

Lest unawares he perish utterly. 

Neop. If it please you, let us sail at once. 
And let him, too, be quick to start with us ; 
Our ship will take him, will not say him nay. 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 159 

This only pray I, that the gods may bring us 
From this land safe to where we seek to sail. 

Philoctetes then asks Neoptolemos to go to his cave 
with him for the purpose of getting some herbs that he 
uses to soothe the pain of his wound. He also looks 
about to see if, through neglect, he has dropped one of 
his precious arrows where it might afterwards be found 
by some stranger, and, as he comes out with his bow 
in his hand, Neoptolemos asks him if that is the far- 
famed bow. 

Fhil. This, and none other hold I in my hands. 

Neop. And may I have a nearer view of it? 
And hold it, and salute it as a god? 

Phil. Thou shalt have this, my son, and if aught else 
Of mine shalt please thee, that, too, shalt be thine. 

Neop. I wish and long, and yet my wish stands thus : 
I fain would, were it right ; if not, refuse. 

Phil. Thou askest but thy due, and it is right, 
My son, who only giv'st me to behold 
The light of day, and yon CEtsean shore. 
My aged father, and my friends, — whose arm. 
When I was trodden down, has raised me up 
Above my foes. Take heart : it shall be thine 
To touch them, yea, and give them back to me, 
And boast that thou, alone of all that hve. 
Hast, for thy virtue's sake, laid hands on them : 
For I, too, gained them by good deeds I did. 

Neop. I grieve not now to see thee as a friend 
And take thee with me, for a man that knows. 
Receiving good, to render good again, 
Would be a friend worth more than lands or goods ; 
Go thou within. 



160 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Phil. And I will take thee, too : 

My ailment makes me crave to have thy help. 

********* 

As they enter the cavern a paroxysm of pain comes 
upon Philoctetes ; but before he is completely exhausted 
by it, he implores Neoptolemos not to desert him. Ne- 
optolemos gives him the deepest sympathy, and asks 
what he shall do to help him. 

Neop. Dost thou then wish 
That I should hold thee, touch thee ? 

Phil. Nay, not so : 
But take my bow and arrows, which but now 
Thou asked'st for, and keep them till the force 
Of the sharp pain be spent ; yea, guard them well, 
For slumber takes me, when this evil ends ; 
Nor can it cease before : but thou must leave me 
To sleep in peace ; and should they come meanwhile, 
Of whom we heard, by all the gods, I charge thee, 
Nor with thy will,^ nor yet against it, give 
These things to them, by any art entrapped, 
Lest thou should'st deal destruction on thyself. 
And me who am thy suppliant. 

Neop. Take good heart. 

If forethought can avail. To none but thee 
And me shall they be given. Hand them me. 
And good luck come with them ! 

Phil. ( Giving his bow and arrows to Neoptolemos?) 

Lo there, my son ! 
Receive thou them, but first adore the Power 
Whose name is Jealousy, that they may prove 
To thee less full of trouble than they were 
To me, and him who owned them ere I owned. 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 161- 

The sufferings of Philoctetes become so intense that 
he prays for death, but when the agony is over he falls 
asleep, and seems like one dead. 

Neoptolemos has the bow and arrows in his posses- 
sion, and might take them to Odysseus, claiming that 
the work he had undertaken was accomplished, but he 
begins to realize that unless he brings Philoctetes also, 
the weapons will be of no avail, so he patiently awaits 
the awakening of the sufferer. When Philoctetes, wak- 
ing, finds Neoptolemos still with him, he expresses 
great surprise, and his confidence in this late-found 
friend is redoubled. Neoptolemos begins to feel the 
stings of conscience when he sees that he has accom- 
plished all that he was instructed to do; by deceit. He 
repents, and at last tells Philoctetes the truth, that he 
will take him not to the home that he so longs to see, 
but back to Troy, where he will be shown to the 
Argive host, and the oracle will be fulfilled. Philoctetes 
exclaims that he is lost, betrayed, and more wretched 
than before, but he demands the return of his bow and 
arrows. Neoptolemos refuses to give them up, and 
while this exciting conversation is going on Odysseus 
comes to them. As soon as Philoctetes recognizes 
him, he determines to throw himself over the cliff into 
the sea, but Odysseus orders the sailors to hold him fast. 
They seize him, and bind his hands behind his back. 
Addressing Odysseus, Philoctetes exclaims : — 

O hands ! What shame ye suffer lacking now 
The bow-string that ye loved so well, and thus 
Made prisoners by this man ! O thou, whose soul 



162 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Has never known a generous, healthy thought, 

How hast thou tricked me, ta'en me in a snare, 

Putting this boy I knew not as thy bhnd, 

Who nothing knew except to do his task : 

And, clearly, now he grieves, sore vexed at heart, 

At all his faults, at all my sufferings. 

But thy base soul, that ever peeps and spies 

Through chinks and crannies, taught him but too well. 

Guileless and all unwilling as he was, 

The subtlety of fraud. Perdition seize thee ! 

And now why take ye me ? Why drag me off? 

What aim have ye in this? How if I should sail, 

Could ye unto the gods burn sacrifice. 

Or pour libation ? 'Twas on that pretence 

Ye cast me forth. Perdition seize you all ! 

O my fatherland, and all ye gods who look on me, avenge, 

Avenge me on them all in time to come, 

If ye have pity on me. 

Odys. Ho, leave him there ! 
Lay no hand on him ; let him here remain. 
With these thine arms we have no need of thee : 
Teucros is with us, skilled in this thine art ; 
And I, too, boast that I, not less than thou, 
This bow can handle, with my hand shoot straight ; 
What need we thee ? In Lemnos walk at will ; 
And let us go. And they perchance will give 
As prize to me what rightly thou might'st claim. 

Odysseus tells Neoptolemos to go also without look- 
ing at Philoctetes, for fear he will ruin the success they 
have gained by his sympathy. Philoctetes gives vent 
to his misery and despair, for without his bow and 
arrows he will not be able to supply himself with food. 
He begs the followers of Neoptolemos to give him a 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 163. 

sword or an axe, or any other weapon with which he 
may destroy himself. While he is eagerly talking to 
them, Neoptolemos and Odysseus return. Neoptole- 
mos has repented of the deceit that he practised on 
Philoctetes, and in spite of Odysseus he returns the 
bow and arrows to Philoctetes. 

Neoptolemos then tells him the whole story of the 
prophecy in regard to the taking of Troy by means of 
the darts which only Philoctetes can shoot from his 
magic bow. He also assures him that he can be 
healed of his wound by going with them of his own 
free will and putting himself under the care of the son 
of Asclepios, Machaon, the great surgeon of the Gre- 
cian army. 

Philoctetes pleads to be taken to his own country 
instead of to Troy, and Neoptolemos finally consents 
to take him there in his ship. Just as they are ready 
to start Heracles appears, descending from the sky, 
in glory. He bids them not to go until they hear his 
words, and after convincing Philoctetes that it is the 
voice of Heracles that speaks, he says : — 

List thou to these my words : 

Going with this youth to Troi'a's town, 

First thou shalt respite find from thy sore plague, 

And for thy valor chosen from the host, 

Shalt with my arrows take away the life 

Of Paris, who was cause of all these ills, 

And shalt sack Troia, and shalt send its spoils 

To thine own dwelling (gaining highest prize 

Of valor in the array) by the plains 



164 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Of CEta, where thy Poeas dwells. 

And all the spoils thou gainest in this war, 

x\s true thank-offerings for these darts of mine, 

Lay thou upon my grave. (^To Neoptolemos.) And now to thee, 

Achilles' son, I this declare ; — nor thou 

Apart from him, nor he apart from thee, 

May Troia take. But ye as lions twain 

That roam together, guard thou him, he thee. 

{To Fhiloctefes.) And I will send as healer of thy wounds, 
Asclepios to Ihon. Yet once more 
By this my bow must it be captured. Then 
(Give heed to this) when ye the land lay waste, 
Shew all rehgious reverence to the gods ; 
For all things else our father Zeus counts less 
[Religion e'en in death abides with men ; 
Die they or live, it does not pass away]. 

Philoctetes no longer objects to returning to Troy. 
He says a few words of farewell to his island-home ; 
then, with Neoptolemos and the sailors, praying to the 
sea-nymphs for protection, they all embark for the voy- 
age to Troy. 

* * * * * ■*• ** * 

Discuss with your class this question : — Is your sense of justice to all 
the characters in this play satisfied with the way it ends? 

Compare the island-home of Philoctetes with that of Robinson Crusoe; 
of Enoch Arden; of Alexander Selkirk. 

Which of all these stories appeals most strongly to your sympathies? 

Among the many adventures met with by Ulysses, 
while returning from Troy to his native land, his visit 
with his companions to the land of the Lotos-eaters 
seems to possess a peculiar charm for modern writers, 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. l.o 

and allusions to it are frequent. Tennyson's version of 
the fascinating story, found among his early poems, 
appears below. 

THE LOTOS-EATERS. 
From the " Odyssey," Book IX. — Bryant's Trans. 

On the tenth day we reached the land where dwell 

The Lotos- eaters, men whose food is flowers. 

We landed on the mainland, and our crews 

Near the fleet galleys took their evening meal. 

And when we all had eaten and had drunk, 

I sent explorers forth — two chosen men, 

A herald was the third — to learn what race 

Of mortals nourished by the fruits of earth 

Possessed the land. They went and found themselves 

Among the Lotos-eaters soon, who used 

No violence against their lives, but gave 

Into their hands the lotos plant to taste. 

Whoever tasted once of that sweet food 

Wished not to see his native country more, 

Nor give his friends the knowledge of his fate. 

And then my messengers desired to dwell 

Among the Lotos-eaters, and to feed 

Upon the lotos, never to return. 

By force I led them weeping to the fleet, 

And bound them in the hollow ships beneath 

The benches. Then I ordered all the rest 

Of my beloved comrades to embark 

In haste, lest, tasting of the lotos, they 

Should think no more of home. All straightway went 

On board, and on the benches took their place, 

And smote the hoary ocean with their oars. 



166 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

THE LOTOS-EATERS. 

Tennyson. 
I. 

" Courage ! " he said, and pointed toward the land, 
"This mounting wave will bear us shoreward soon." 

In the afternoon they came unto a land 
In which it seemed always afternoon. 

All round the coast the fragrant air did swoon ; 
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream ; 

Full-faced above the valley stood the moon ; 

And like a downward smoke, the slender stream, 
Along the chfF, to fall and pause and fall, did seem. 

II. 

A land of streams ! some, like a downward smoke, 
Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go ; 

And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke. 
Rolling a sheen of slumbrous foam below. 

They saw the gleaming river onward flow 

From the inner land : far off three mountain-tops. 

Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, 

Stood sunset-flushed, and, dewed with showery drops, 
Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. 

III. 
The charmed sunset lingered low adown 

In the red West : through mountain clefts the dale 
Was seen far inland, and the yellow down 

Bordered with palm, and many a winding vale 
And meadow, set with slender galingale ; 

A land where all things always seemed the same. 
And round about the keel with faces pale. 

Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, 
The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos- caters came. 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 167 

IV, 
Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, 

Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave 
To each, but whoso did receive of them. 

And taste, to him the gushing of the wave 
Far, far away did seem to mourn and rave 

On aUen shores ; and if his fellow spake. 
His voice was thin, as voices from the grave ; 

And deep-asleep he seemed, yet all awake. 
And music in his ears his beating heart did make. 

v. 
They sat them down upon the yellow sand. 

Before the sun and moon upon the shore ; 
And sweet it was to dream of Father-land, 

Of child and wife and slave ; but evermore 
Most weary seemed the sea, weary the oar. 

Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. 
Then some one said, " We will return no more " ; 

And all at once they sang, " Our island home 
Is far beyond the wave ; we will no longer roam." 

Choric Song. 

I. 

There is sweet music here that softer falls 

Than petals from blown roses on the grass, 

Or night-dews on still waters between walls 

Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass ; 

Music that genther on the spirit lies 

Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes ; 

Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. 

Here are cool mosses deep. 

And through the moss the ivies creep, 



168 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, 
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. 



Why are we weighed upon with heaviness, 

And utterly consumed with sharp distress, 

While all things else have rest from weariness ? 

All things have rest : why should we toil alone, 

We only toil, who are the first of things. 

And make perpetual moan, 

Still from one sorrow to another thrown : 

Nor ever fold our wings. 

And cease from wanderings. 

Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm ; 

Nor hearken what the inner spirit sings, 

" There is no joy but calm ! " 

Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things ? 

3- 

Lo ! in the middle of the wood. 

The folded leaf is wooed from out the bud 

With winds upon the branch, and there 

Grows green and broad, and takes no care 

Sun-steeped at noon, and in the moon 

Nightly dew-fed ; and turning yellow 

Falls, and floats adown the air. 

Lo ! sweeten'd with the summer light, 

The full-juiced apple waxing over-mellow, 

Drops in a silent autumn night. 

All its allotted length of days. 

The flower ripens in its place. 

Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, 

Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 169 



Hateful is the dark blue sky, 

Vaulted o'er the dark blue sea. 

Death is the end of life ; ah, why 

Should Hfe all labor be ? 

Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, 

And in a little while our lips are dumb. 

Let us alone. What is it that will last? 

All things are taken from us, and become 

Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. 

Let us alone. What pleasure can we have 

To war with evil ? Is there any peace 

In ever climbing up the climbing wave ? 

All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave 

In silence ; ripen, fall, and cease : 

Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease. 



How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, 

With half-shut eyes ever to seem 

Falling asleep in a half-dream ! 

To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, 

Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height ; 

To hear each other's whispered speech ; 

Eating the Lotos- day by day. 

To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, 

And tender curving lines of creamy spray ; 

To lend our hearts and spirits wholly 

To the influence of mild-minded melancholy ; 

To muse and brood and live again in memory, 

With those old faces of our infancy 

Heap'd over with a mound of grass. 

Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass 1 



•J 70 FO UNDA TION STUDIES IN LITERA TURE. 

6. 
Dear is the memory of our wedded lives, 
And dear the last embraces of our wives, 
And their warm tears ; but all hath suffer'd change ; 
For surely now our household hearths are cold : 
Our sons inherit us ; our looks are strange : 
And we should come hke ghosts to trouble joy. 
Or else the island princes over-bold 
Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings 
Before them of the ten years' war in Troy 
And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things- 
Is there confusion in the little isle ? 
Let what is broken so remain. 
The gods are hard to reconcile ; 
'Tis hard to settle order once again. 
There is confusion worse than death, 
Trouble on trouble, pain on pain, 
Long labor unto aged breath. 
Sore tasks to hearts worn out by many wars 
And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars. 

7- 
But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly. 
How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly) 
With half-dropt eyeUds still, 
Beneath a heaven dark and holy. 
To watch the long bright river drawing slowly 
His waters from the purple hill. 
To hear the dewy echoes calling 
From cave to cave thro' the dark- twined vine — 
To watch the emerald-color'd water falling 
Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine ! 
Only to hear and see the far-off sparkhng brine, 
Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine. 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 17-1 

8. 
The Lotos blooms below the barren peak : 
The Lotos blows by every winding creek : 
All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone : 
Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone 
Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is 

blown. 
We have had enough of action, and of motion we, 
RoU'd to starboard, roll'd to larboard when the surge was 

seething free, 
Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the 

sea. 
Let us swear an oath and keep it with an equal mind 
In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined 
On the hills Hke gods together, careless of mankind. 
For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd 
Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl'd 
Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world : 
Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands, 
Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deep and 

fiery sands, 
Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and 

praying hands. 
But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song 
Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong, 
Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong ; 
Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, 
Sow the seed and reap the harvest with enduring toil. 
Storing yearly httle dues of wheat, and wine, and oil ; 
Till they perish and they suffer — some, 'tis whisper'd, down 

in hell 
Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell, 
Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel. 
Surely, surely slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore 



172 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Than labor in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar; 
O rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more. 



ULYSSES. 

Tennyson. 

It little profits that an idle king, 

By this still hearth, among these barren crags, 

Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole 

Unequal laws unto a savage race, 

That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. 

I cannot rest from travel ; I will drink 

Life to the lees ; all times I have enjoyed 

Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those 

That loved me, and alone ; on shore, and when 

Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades 

Vext the dim sea : I am become a name ; 

For always roaming with a hungry heart, 

Much have I seen and known ; cities of men 

And manners, climates, councils, governments, 

Myself not least, but honor'd of them all ; 

And drunk delight of battle with my peers, 

Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. 

I am a part of all that I have met ; 

Yet all experience is an arch where thro' 

Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades 

Forever and forever when I move. 

How dull it is to pause, to make an end, 

To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use ! 

As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life 

Were all too little, and of one to me 

Little remains : but every hour is saved 

From that eternal silence, something more, 

A bringer of new things ; and vile it were 



THE TROJAN WAR AND ULYSSES. 173 

For some three suns to store and hoard myself, 

And this gray spirit yearning in desire 

To follow knowledge like a sinking star, 

Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. 

This is my son, mine own Telemachus, 

To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle — 

Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil 

This labor, by slow prudence to make mild 

A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees 

Subdue them to the useful and the good. 

Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere 

Of common duties, decent not to fail 

In offices of tenderness, and pay 

Meet adoration to my household gods. 

When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. 

There Hes the port : the vessel puffs her sail : 

There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners. 

Souls that have toil'd, and wrought and thought with me — 

That ever with a frolic welcome took 

The thunder and the sunshine and opposed 

Free hearts, free foreheads — you and I are old ; 

Old age hath yet his honor and his toil ; 

Death closes all : but something ere the end. 

Some work of noble note may yet be done. 

Not unbecoming men that strove with gods. 

The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks : 

The long day wanes : the slow moon climbs : the deep 

Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 

'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. 

Push off, and sitting well in order smite 

The sounding furrows ; for my purpose holds 

To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 

Of all the western stars, until I die. 

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down : 

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles 



174 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE, 

And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. 

Tho' much is taken, much abides : and tho' 

We are not now that strength which in old days 

Moved earth and heaven j that which we are, we are ; 

One equal temper of heroic hearts, 

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. 

Students are referred to "The Adventures of Ulysses," by Charles 
Lamb, told in inimitable prose ; to " The Story of Ulysses," by Alfred J. 
Church; and to a humorous poem called "Polyphemus and Ulysses," by 
John G. Saxe. 




" 77?^ young-, unawakened maid lies by the rose-tre/iis, under the eyes 
of the conquering but now conquered god. ' ' 



GROUP V. 



ANCIENT AND MODERN TREATMENT OF THE 
MYTH OF CUPID. 



While Cupid, under the name Eros, was one of the 
gods famous in Grecian story, the myth of Cupid and 
Psyche is comparatively new, as it was invented by 
Apuehus, a Roman author of the second century. 

Mrs. Browning has paraphrased the story, presenting 
it in ten scenes, each a perfect picture. They are here 
given entire. 

PSYCHE GAZING ON CUPID. 

Then Psyche, weak in body and soul, put on 

The cruelty of Fate in place of strength : 
She raised the lamp to see what should be done, 

And seized the steel, and was a man at length 
In courage, though a woman ! Yes, but when 

The light fell on the bed whereby she stood 
To view the "beast " that lay there, — certes, then, 

She saw the gentlest, sweetest beast in the wood — 
Even Cupid's self, the beauteous god : more beauteous 

For that sweet sleep across his eyelids dim 1 

175 



176 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

The light the lady carried as she viewed, 

Did blush for pleasure as it lighted him, 
The dagger trembled from its aim unduteous ; 

And she — oh, she — amazed and soul distraught, 
And fainting in her whiteness, like a veil 

Shd down upon her knees, and shuddering, thought 
To hide — though in her heart — the dagger pale ! 

She would have done it, but her hands did fail 
To hold the guilty steel, they shivered so, — 

And feeble, exhausted, unawares she took 
To gazing on the god, — till, look by look 

Her eyes with larger life did fill and glow. 
She saw his golden head ahght with curls, — 

She might have guessed their brightness in the dark 
By that ambrosial smell of heavenly mark ! 

She saw the milky brow, more pure than pearls, 
The purple of the cheeks, divinely sundered 

By the globed ringlets, as they glided free. 
Some back, some forwards, — all so radiantly, 

That, as she watched them there, she never wondered 
To see the lamplight, where it touched them, tremble ; 

On the god's shoulders, too, she marked his wings 
Shine faintly at the edges and resemble 

A flower that's near to blow. The poet sings 
And lover sighs, that Love is fugitive ; 

And certes, though these pinions lay reposing. 
The feathers on them seemed to stir and live 

As if by instinct closing and unclosing. 
Meantime the god's fair body slumbered deep, 

All worthy of Venus, in his shining sleep ; 
While at the bed's foot lay the quiver, bow, 

And darts, — his arms of godhead. Psyche gazed 
With eyes that drank the wonders in, — said, " Lo, 

Be these my husband's arms?" and straightway raised 



THE MYTH OF CUPID. 177 

An arrow from the quiver-case, and tried 
Its point against her finger, — trembhng till 

She pushed it in too deeply (fooUsh bride !) 

And made her blood some dewdrops small distil 

And learnt to love Love, of her own good will. 

PSYCHE WAFTED BY ZEPHYRUS. 

While Psyche wept upon the rock forsaken, 

Alone, despairing, dreading, — gradually 
By Zephyrus she was enwrapt and taken 

Still trembling, — like the lihes planted high, — 
Through all her fair white hmbs. Her vesture spread, 

Her very bosom eddying with surprise. 
He drew her slowly from the mountain-head 

And bore her down the valleys with wet eyes, 
And laid her in the lap of a green dell 

As soft with grass and flowers as any nest. 
With trees beside her, and a limpid well : 

Yet Love was not far off from all that Rest. 

PSYCHE AND PAN. 

The gentle river, in her Cupid's honor, 

Because he used to warm the very wave, 
Did ripple aside, instead of closing on her. 

And cast up Psyche, with a refluence brave, 
Upon the flowery bank, — all sad and sinning. 

Then Pan, the rural god, by chance was leaning 
Along the brow of the waters as they wound. 

Kissing the reed-nymph till she sank to the ground, 
And teaching, without knowledge of the meaning, 

To run her voice in music after his 
Down many a shifting note ; (the goats around, 

In wandering pasture and most leaping bliss, 



178 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Drawn on to crop the river's flowery hair.) 

And as the hoary god beheld her there, 
The poor, worn, fainting Psyche ! — knowing all 

The grief she suffered, he did gently call 
Her name, and softly comfort her despair : — 

" O wise, fair lady, I am rough and rude, 
And yet experienced through my weary age ! 

And if I read aright, as soothsayer should. 
Thy faltering steps of heavy pilgrimage, 

Thy paleness, deep as the snow, we cannot see 
The roses through, — thy sighs of quick returning. 

Thine eyes that seem, themselves, two souls in mourning, 
Thou lovest, girl, too well, and bitterly ! 

But hear me : rush no more to a headlong fall : 
Seek no more deaths ! leave wail, lay sorrow down, 

And pray the sovran god ; and use withal 
Such prayer as best may suit a tender youth. 

Well-pleased to bend to flatteries from mouth. 
And feel them stir the myrtle of his crown." 

— So spake the shepherd-god ; and answer none 
Gave Psyche in return : but silently 

She did him homage with a bended knee. 
And took the onward path. — 

PSYCHE PROPITIATING CERES. 

Then mother Ceres from afar beheld her. 

While Psyche touched, with reverent fingers meek, 
The temple's scythes ; and with a cry compelled her: 

" O wretched Psyche, Venus roams to seek 
Thy wandering footsteps round the weary earth, 

Anxious and maddened, and adjures thee forth 
To accept the imputed pang, and let her wreak 

Full vengeance with full force of deity ! 



THE MYTH OF CUPID. 17.9 

Yet thou, forsooth, art in my temple here, 

Touching my scythes, assuming my degree, 
And daring to have thoughts that are not fear ! " 

— But Psyche clung to her feet, and as they moved 
Rained tears along their track, tear dropped on tear. 
And drew the dust on in her trailing locks, 
And still, with passionate prayer, the charge disproved ; 
" Now, by thy right hand's gathering from the shocks 
Of golden corn, — and by thy gladsome rites 
Of harvest, — and thy consecrated sights 
Shut safe and mute in chests, — and by the course 
Of thy slave-dragons, — and the driving force 
Of ploughs along Sicilian glebes profound, — 
By all those Nuptial torches that departed 
With thy lost daughter, — and by those that shone 
Back with her, when she came again glad-hearted, — 
And by all other mysteries which are done 
In silence at Eleusis^ — I beseech thee, 

Ceres, take some pity and abstain 
From giving to my soul extremer pain, 

Who am the wretched Psyche ! Let me teach thee 

A little mercy, and have thy leave to spend 

A few days only in thy garnered corn, 

Until that wrathful goddess, at the end 

Shall feel her hate grow mild, the longer borne, — 

Or till, alas ! — this faintness at my breast 

Pass from me, and my spirit apprehend 

From life-long woe a breath-time hour of rest ! " 

But Ceres answered, " I am moved indeed, 

By prayers so moist with tears, and would defend 

The poor beseecher from more utter need : 

But where old oaths, anterior ties, commend, 

1 cannot fail to a sister, lie to a friend. 

As Venus is to J7ie. Depart with speed ! " 



180 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 



PSYCHE AND THE EAGLE. 

But sovran Jove's rapacious bird, the regal 

High percher on the Ughtning, the great eagle 

Drove down with rushing wings ; and — thinking how, 

By Cupid's help, he bore from Ida's brow 

A cup-boy for his master, — he inclined 

To yield, in just return, an influence kind ; 

The god being honored in his lady's woe. 

And thus the bird wheeled downward from the track 

Gods follow gods in, to the level low 

Of that poor face of Psyche left in wrack. 

— "Now fie, thou simple girl ! " the bird began ; 

" For if thou think to steal and carry back 

A drop of hohest stream that ever ran. 

No simpler thought, methinks, were found in man. 

What ! know'st thou not these Stygian waters be 

Most holy, even to Jove ? that as, on earth, 

Men swear by gods, and by the thunderer's worth. 

Even so the heavenly gods do utter forth 

Their oaths by Styx's flowing majesty? 

And yet one little urnful, I agree 

To grant thy need ! " Whereat all hastily. 

He takes it, fills it from the willing wave. 

And bears it in his beak, incarnadined 

By the last Titan-prey he screamed to have ; 

And, striking calmly out against the wind. 

Vast wings on each side, — there, where Psyche stands, 

He drops the urn down in her lifted hands. 



PSYCHE AND CERBERUS. 

A mighty Dog with three colossal necks. 

And heads in grand proportion ; vast as fear, 



THE MYTH OF CUPID. 181 

With jaws that bark the thunder out that breaks 

In most innocuous dread for ghosts anear, 
Who are safe in death from sorrow : he rechnes 
Across the threshold of Queen Proserpine's 
Dark-sweeping halls, and, there, for Pluto's spouse, 
Doth guard the entrance of the empty house. 
When Psyche threw the cake to him, once amain 
He howled up wildly from his hunger-pain, 
And was still, after. 

PSYCHE AND PROSERPINE. 

Then Psyche entered in to Proserpine 

In the dark house, and straightway did decline 

With meek denial the luxurious seat. 

The hberal board for welcome strangers spread. 
But sate down lowly at the dark queen's feet, 

And told her tale and brake her oaten bread. 
And when she had given the pyx in humble duty. 

And told how Venus did entreat the queen 
To fill it up with only one day's beauty 

She used in Hades, star-bright and serene. 
To beautify the Cyprian, who had been 
All spoilt with grief in nursing her sick boy, — 
Then Proserpine, in malice and in joy, 
Smiled in the shade, and took the pyx, and put 
A secret in it ; and so, filled and shut. 
Gave it again to Psyche. Could she tell 
It held no beauty, but a dream of hell ? 

PSYCHE AND VENUS. 

And Psyche brought to Venus what was sent 
By Pluto's spouse ; the paler, that she went 
So low to seek it, down the dark descent. 



182 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

MERCURY CARRIES PSYCHE TO OLYMPUS. 

Then Jove commanded the god Mercury 
To float up Psyche from the earth. And she 
Sprang at the first word, as the fountain springs, 
And shot up bright and rustUng through his wings. 

THE MARRIAGE OF PSYCHE AND CUPID. 

And Jove's right-hand approached the ambrosial bowl 

To Psyche's lips, that scarce dared yet to smile, — 
" Drink, O my daughter, and acquaint thy soul 

With deathless uses, and be glad the while ! 
No more shall Cupid leave thy lovely side ; 

Thy marriage-joy begins for never-ending." 
While yet he spake, — the nuptial feast suppHed, — 

The bridegroom on the festive couch was bending 
O'er Psyche in his bosom. The rural cup-boy came 
And poured Jove's nectar out with shining eyes, 
W^hile Bacchus for the others did as much, 

And Vulcan spread the meal ; and all the Hours 

Made all things purple with a sprinkle of flowers, 
Or roses chiefly, not to say the touch 

Of their sweet fingers ; and the Graces glided 
Their balm around, and the Muses through the air 

Struck out clear voices, which were still divided 
By that divinest song Apollo there 
Intoned to his lute ; while Aphrodite fair 
Did float her beauty along the tune, and play 
The notes right with her feet. And thus, the day 
Through every perfect mood of joy was carried. 
The Muses sang their chorus ; Satyrus 
Did blow his pipes ; Pan touched his reed ; — and thus 
At last were Cupid and his Psyche married. 



THE MYTH OF CUPID. 183 

The myth of Cupid meets us at every turn in our 
reading, and is so familiar to young and old, both in 
pictures and poetry, that explanations are unnecessary. 
The poems that we have selected to illustrate the myth 
are of varied authorship and nationality. Those hav- 
ing the full flavor of antiquity are translations from the 
Greek poet, Anacreon, who wrote in the latter half of 
the fifth century b.c. 

CUPID STUNG. [Anacreon.] 

Thomas Bateson's Madrigals (i6i8). 

Cupid in a bed of roses 

Sleeping, chanced to be stung 

Of a bee that lay among 
The flowers where he himself reposes ; 
And thus to his mother weeping 

Told that he this wound did take 

Of a little winged snake, 
As he lay securely sleeping. 
Cytherea smiling said, 

That " if so great a sorrow spring 

From a silly bee's weak sting 
As should make thee thus dismayed, 

What anguish feel they, think'st thou, and what pain. 

Whom thine empoison'd arrows cause complain ? " 

CUPID STUNG. 

Translated by Edwin Arnold. 

Love once among the roses 
Perceived a bee reposing. 
And wondered what the beast was. 
And touched it, so it stung him. 



184 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Sorely his finger smarted, 

And bitterly he greeted, 

And wrung his hands together ; 

And half he ran, half fluttered 

To Cytherea's bosom, 

Unto his fair sweet mother. 

Loud sobbed he, " Ai ! ai ! mother 

Olola ! I am murdered ! 

Olola ! it has killed me ! 

A small brown snake with winglets, 

Which men the honey-bee call, 

Bit me ! " But Cytherea 

Said, laughing, '' Ah, my baby, 

If bees' stings hurt so sorely. 

Bethink thee what the smart is 

Of those, Love, whom thou piercest." 



CUPID AND THE BEE. 

Thomas Moore. 

Cupid once upon a bed 

Of roses laid his weary head ; 

Luckless urchin not to see 

Within the leaves a slumbering bee ! 

The bee awaked — with anger wild 

The bee awaked and stung the child 

Loud and piteous are his cries ; 

To Venus quick he runs, he flies ; 

" Oh, mother ! — I am wounded through 

I die with pain — what shall I do ? 

Stung by some little angry thing. 

Some serpent on a tiny wing, — 

A bee it was — for once I know, 

I heard a peasant call it so." 



THE MYTH OF CUPID. 185 

Thus he spoke, and she the while 
Heard him with a soothing smile ; 
Then said : " My infant, if so much 
Thou feel the little wild-bee's touch, 
How must the heart, ah, Cupid, be, 
The hapless heart, that's stung by thee ? " 



DISCOURSE WITH CUPID. 
Ben Jonson, 

Noblest Charis, you that are 

Both my fortune and my star ! 

Hear what late discourse of you 

Love and I have had ; and true. 

'Mongst my muses finding me, 

Where he chanced your name to see 

Set, and to this softer strain : 

" Sure," said he, " if I have brain. 

This here sung can be no other 

By description, but my mother ! 

So hath Homer praised her hair j 

So Anacreon drawn the air 

Of her face, and made to rise, 

Just about her sparkling eyes. 

Both her brows, bent like my bow. 

By her looks I do her know. And see ! 

Such my mother's blushes be. 

As the bath your verse discloses 

In her cheeks of milk and roses ; 

Such as oft I wanton in. 

And above her even chin, 

Have you placed the bank of kisses 

Ripened with a breath more sweet, 

Than when flowers and west winds meet. 



1 86 FO UNDA TI ON S T UDIES IN LIT ERA T URE. 

Nay, her white and pohshed neck, 
With the lace that doth it deck, 
Is my mother's ! hearts of slain 
Lovers, made into a chain ! 

. . . Her very name, 
With my mother's is the same." 
" I confess all," I repHed, 
" And the glass hangs by her side, 
And the girdle 'bout her waist, 
All is Venus ; . . . 
But, alas ! thou seest the least 
Of her good who is the best 
Of her sex ; but couldst thou, Love, 
Call to mind the forms that strove 
For the apple, and those three 
Make in one, the same were she. 
For this beauty still doth hide 
Something more than thou hast spied. 
Outward grace weak Love beguiles : 
She is Venus when she smiles, 
But she's Juno when she walks, 
And Minerva when she talks." 



CUPID AND CAMPASPE. 
John Lily. 

Cupid and my Campaspe played 

At cards for kisses — Cupid paid ; 

He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, 

His mother's doves and team of sparrows — 

Loses them too ; then down he throws 

The coral of his lip, the rose 

Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how) ; 

With these the crystal of his brow, 



THE MYTH OF CUPID. 187 

And then the dimple of his chin ; 
All these did my Campaspe win. 
At last he set her both his eyes ; 
She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 

Love ! has she done this to thee? 
What shall, alas ! become of me ? 

THE CHEAT OF CUPID. [Anacreon.] 
Translated by Robert Hekrick. 

One silent night of late, 

When every creature rested, 
Came one unto my gate. 

And knocking, me molested. 

" Who's there," said I, ''beats there, 

And troubles thus the sleepy? " 
" Cast off," said he, " all fear, 

And let not locks thus keep thee." 

" For I a boy am, who 

By moonless nights have swerved ; 
And all with showers wet through 

And e'en with cold half-starved." 

1 pitiful, arose, 

And soon a taper lighted ; 
And did myself disclose 
Unto the lad benighted. 

I saw he had a bow, 

And wings, too, which did shiver ; 
And, looking down below, 

I spied he had a quiver. 

I to my chimney's shrine 

Brought him, as Love professes, 



188 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

And chafed his hands with mine 
And dried his dripping tresses. 

But when that he felt warmed : 
" Let's try this bow of ours 

And string, if they be harmed," 
Said he, " with these late showers." 

Forthwith his bow he bent, 
And wedded string and arrow. 

And struck me, that it went 

Quite through my heart and marrow. 

Then, laughing loud, he flew 
Away, and thus said, flying : 

" Adieu, mine host, adieu ! 
I'll leave thy heart a-dying." 

CUPID BENIGHTED. [Anacreon.] 
Thomas Moore. 

'Twas noon of night, and round the pole 
The sullen Bear was seen to roll ; 
And mortals wearied with the day. 
Were slumbering all their cares away ; 
An infant at that dreary hour, 
Came weeping to my silent bower. 
And waked me with a piteous prayer, 
To shield him from the midnight air. 

*' And who art thou, " I waking cry, 
" That bid'st my bhssful visions fly ? " 
" Ah, gentle sire," — the infant said, — 
'^ In pity take me to thy shed. 
Nor fear deceit ; a lonely child, 
I wander o'er the gloomy wild. 




' Tivas Love ! the little, wandering sprite ; 
His pinion sparkled t'lrough the night, — 
/ knei'j him by his bow and dart/' 



THE MYTH OF CUPID. 189 

Chill drops the rain, and not a ray 
Illumes my drear and misty way." 
I heard the baby's tale of woe ; 
I heard the bitter night-winds blow ; 
And, sighing for his piteous fate, 
I trimm'd my lamp, and op'd the gate. 
'Twas Love ! the little wandering sprite, 
His pinion sparkled through the night. 
I knew him by his bow and dart ; 
I knew him by my fluttering heart. 
Fondly I take him in, and raise 
The dying embers' cheering blaze ; 
Press from his dark and clinging hair 
The crystals of the freezing air. 
And in my hand and bosom hold 
His little fingers' thrilling cold. 

And now the embers' genial ray 
Had warm'd his anxious fears away : 
" I pray thee," said the wanton child 
(My bosom trembled as he smil'd), 
" I pray thee, let me try my bow, 
For through the rain I've wandered so. 
That much I fear the midnight shower 
Has injured its elastic power." 
His fatal bow the urchin drew ; 
Swift from the string the arrow flew ; 
As swiftly flew as glancing flame, 
And to mine inmost spirit came ! 
And " Fare thee well," I heard him say, 
As, laughing wild, he wing'd his way ; 
" Fare thee well, for now I know 
The rain has not relaxed my bow ; 
It still can send a thrilling dart. 
As thou shalt own with all thy heart ! " 



190 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

CUPID SWALLOWED. 

Leigh Hunt. 

'Tother day as I was twining 

Roses for a crown to dine in, 

What, of all things, midst the heap. 

Should I light on, fast asleep, 

But the little desperate elf. 

The tiny traitor — Love himself! 

By the wings I pinched him up 

Like a bee, and in a cup 

Of my wine I plunged and sank him ; 

And what d'ye think I did ? I drank him ! 

Faith I thought him dead. Not he ! 

There he lives with tenfold glee ; 

And now this moment with his wings 

I feel him tickling my heart-strings. 

SIR CUPID. 

Frederick R. Wetherly. 

Sir Cupid once, as I have heard, 

Determined to discover 
What kind of a man a maid preferred 

Selecting for a lover. 
So putting on a soldier's coat. 

He talked of martial glory, 
And from the way he talked, they say. 

She seemed to like — the story. 

Then with a smile sedate and grim. 
He changed his style and station, 

In shovel hat and gaiters trim 
He made his visitation. 



THE MYTH OF CUPID. 191- 

He talked of this, discoursed of that, 

Of Palestine and Hermon ; 
And from the way he preached, they say, 

She seemed to like — the sermon. 

Then changed again, he came to her 

A roaring, ranting sailor. 
He cried " Yo ho ! I love you so ! " 

And vowed he'd never fail her. 
He talked of star and compass true. 

The glories of the ocean. 
And from the way he sang, they say, 

She seemed to like — the notion. 

Then Cupid, puzzled in his mind, 

Discarded all disguises ; 
" That you no preference seem to find 

My fancy much surprises." 
" Why so? " she cried with roguish smile 

" Why, prithee, why so stupid ? 
I do not care what garb you wear 

So long as you are — Cupid." 

CUPID'S DECADENCE. 

Eliot Stock. 

In ancient days when all was young. 

And Love and Hope were rife, 
Dan Cupid fed on rustic fare. 

And lived a country life. 

He rose betimes at break of day, 

And round the country harried ; 
Upstirring hearts that were unwed. 

And soothing down the married. 



192 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

But then on wider mischief bent 

He hied him to the city ; 
And finding much to suit his taste, 

He stayed there — more's the pity. 

Men built him there a golden house, 

Bedight with golden stars. 
They feasted him on golden grain 

And wine in golden jars. 

They draped his pretty nakedness 

In richest cloth of gold, 
And set him up in business 

Where Love was bought and sold. 

And thus he led a city hfe. 

Forgetting his nativity ; 
Since then he's gone from bad to worse, 

From Cupid to Cupidity. 



THE CYCLOPS: A PARAPHRASE ON THEOCRITUS. 

Mrs. Browning. 

And so an easier life our Cyclops drew. 

The ancient Polyphemus, who in youth 
Loved Galatea, while the manhood grew 

Adown his cheeks and darkened round his mouth. 
No jot he cared for apples, olives, roses ; 

Love made him mad ; the whole world was neglected, 
The very sheep went backward to their closes 

From out the fair green pastures, self-directed. 
And singing Galatea, thus, he wore 

The sunrise down along the weedy shore, 
And pined alone, and felt the cruel wound 

Beneath his heart, which Cypris's arrow bore, 



THE MYTH OF CUPID. 193 

With a deep pang ; but so the cure was found ; 

And sitting on a lofty rock he cast 
His eyes upon the sea, and sang at last : — 

" O whitest Galatea, can it be 
That thou shouldst spurn me, me, who love thee so ? 
More white than curds, my girl, thou art to see. 

More meek than lambs, more full of leaping glee 
Than kids, and brighter than the early glow 
On grapes that swell to ripen, — sour hke thee ! 

Thou comest to me with the fragrant sleep, 
And with the fragrant sleep thou goest from me ; 

Thou fliest, — fliest, as a frightened sheep 
Flies the gray wolf ! yet Love did overcome me, 

So long ; — I loved thee, maiden, first of all 
When down the hills (my mother fast beside thee) 

I saw thee stray to pluck the summer-fall 
Of hyacinth bells, and went myself to guide thee : 

And since my eyes have seen thee, they can leave thee 
No more, from that day's light ! But thou — by Zeus, 
Thou wilt not care for that to let it grieve thee ! 

I know thee, fair one, why thou springest loose 
From my arm round thee, Why ? I tell thee, dear ! 

One shaggy eyebrow draws its smudging road 
Straight through my ample front, from ear to ear, — 

One eye rolls underneath ; and yawning, broad 
Flat nostrils feel the bulging lips too near. 

Yet — ho, ho ! — I, — whatever I appear, — 
Do feed a thousand oxen ! When I have done 

I milk the cows, and drink the milk that's best ! 
I lack no cheese, while summer keeps the sun \ 

And after, in the cold, it's ready prest ! 
And then I know to sing, as there is none 

Of all the Cyclops can, — a song of thee, 
Sweet apple of my soul on life's fair tree, 

And of myself who love thee, till the West 



194 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Forgets the light and all but I have rest. 

I feed for thee, besides, eleven fair does 
And four tame whelps of bears. 

Come to me. Sweet ! thou shalt have all of those 
In change for love ! I will not halve the shares. 

Leave the blue sea, with pure white arms extended 
To the dry shore ; and in my cave's recess 

Thou shalt be gladder for the moonlight ended, — 
For here be laurels, spiral cypresses. 

Dark ivy, and a vine whose leaves enfold 
Most luscious grapes ; and here is water cold 

That wooded ^Etna pours down through the trees 
From the white snows, — which gods were scarce too bold 

To drink in turn with nectar. Who with these 
Would choose the salt wave of the lukewarm seas ? 

Nay, look on me ! If I am hairy and rough, 
I have an oak's heart in me ; there's a fire 

In these gray ashes which burns hot enough. 
I grudge the flame no fuel, — not my soul. 

Nor this one eye, — most precious thing I have, because 
thereby 
I see thee, P'airest ! Out, alas ! I wish 

My mother had borne me finned like a fish, 
That I might plunge down in the ocean near thee, 

And kiss thy glittering hand between the weeds. 
If still thy face were turned ; and I would bear thee 

Each lily white and poppy fair that bleeds 
Its red heart down its leaves ! — one gift for hours 

Of summer, — one for winter ; since, to cheer thee, 
I could not bring at once all kinds of flowers. 

Even now, girl, now, I fain would learn to swim, 
If stranger in a ship sailed nigh, I wis, — 

That I may know how sweet a thing it is 
To live down with you in the Deep and Dim ! 

Come up, O Galatea ! from the ocean, 



THE MYTH OF CUPID. 195 

And having come, forget again to go ! 

As I, who sing out here my heart's emotion 
Could sit forever. Come up from below ! 

Come, keep my flocks beside me, milk my kine, — 
Come, press my cheese, distrain my whey and curd ! 

Ah, mother ! she alone, — that mother of mine, — 
Did wrong me sore ! I blame her ! — Not a word 

Of kindly intercession did she address 
Thine ear with, for my sake ; and ne'er the less 

She saw me wasting, wasting, day by day ! 
Both head and feet were aching, I will say. 

All sick for grief, as I myself was sick ! 
O Cyclops, Cyclops, whither hast thou sent 

Thy soul on fluttering wings ? If thou wert bent 
On turning bowls, or pulling green and thick 

The sprouts to give thy lambkins — thou wouldst make thee 
A wiser Cyclops than for what we take thee. 

Milk dry the present ! Why pursue too quick 
That future which is fugitive aright? 

Thy Galatea thou shalt haply find, — 
Or else a maiden fairer and more kind ; 

For many girls do call me through the night, 
And, as they call, do laugh out silverly. 

/, too, am something in the world I see ! " 

******** 

While thus the Cyclops love and lambs did fold, 
Ease came with song, he could not buy with gold. 

This story is the subject of Raphael's famous paint- 
ing, — The Flight of Galatea. 



196 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

THE DRYADS. 

Leigh Hunt. 

These are the tawny Dryads, who love nooks 

In the dry depth of oaks ; 

Or feel the air in groves, or pull green dresses 

For their glad heads in rooty wildernesses ; 

Or on the gold turf, o'er the dark lines 

Which the sun makes when he declines, 

Bend their linked dances in and out the pines. 

They tend all forests old, and meeting trees. 

Wood, copse, or queach, or slippery dell o'erhung 

With firs, and with their dusty apples strewn ; 

And let the visiting beams the boughs among. 

And bless the trunks from clingings of disease 

And wasted hearts that to the night-wind groan. 

They screen the cuckoo when he sings ; and teach 

The mother blackbird how to lead astray 

The unformed spirit of the foolish boy 

From thick to thick, from hedge to bay or beach, 

When he would steal the huddled nest away 

Of yellow bills upgaping for their food. 

And spoil the song of the free solitude. 

And they, at sound of the brute, insolent horn. 

Hurry the deer out of the dewy morn ; 

And take into their sudden laps with joy 

The startled hare that did but peep abroad ; 

And from the trodden road 

Help the bruised hedgehog. And at rest, they love 

The back-turned pheasant, hanging from the tree 

His sunny drapery ; 

The handy squirrel, nibbUng hastily ; 

And fragrant hiving bee. 

So happy that he will not move, not he. 



THE MYTH OF CUPID. 197 

Without a song ; and hidden, loving dove, 
With his deep breath ; and bird of wakeful glen, 
Whose louder song is like the voice of life, 
Triumphant o'er death's image, but whose deep. 
Low, lovelier note is Hke a gentle wife — 
A poor, a pensive, yet a happy one. 
Stealing, when daylight's common tasks are done. 
An hour for mother's work, and singing low 
While her tired husband and her children sleep. 

This poem by Leigh Hunt gives quite clearly and 
fully the services that the Dryads were supposed to 
render to the forests. 

The subject is capable of very charming poetic treat- 
ment, as may be seen in the poem called " Rhoecus," 
by James Russell Lowell, and from which the following 
selection is taken. 

********* 
A youth named Rhoecus, wandering in the wood, 
Saw an old oak just trembling to its fall, 
And, feeling pity for so fair a tree, 
He propped its gray trunk with admiring care. 
And with a thoughtless footstep loitered on. 
But, as he turned, he heard a voice behind 
That murmured " Rhoecus ! " 'Twas as if the leaves, 
Stirred by a passing breath, had murmured it. 
And, while he paused bewildered, yet again 
It murmured " Rhoecus ! " softer than a breeze. 
He started, and beheld with dizzy eyes 
What seemed the substance of a happy dream 
Stand there before him, spreading a warm glow 
Within the green glooms of the shadowy oak. 
It seemed a woman's shape, yet all too fair 
To be a woman, and with eyes too meek 



198 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

For any that were wont to mate with gods. 
But Hke a goddess stood she there, 
And Hke a goddess all too beautiful 
To feel the guilt-born earthliness of shame. 
" Rhoecus, I am the Dryad of this tree," — 
Thus she began, dropping her low-toned words 
Serene, and full, and clear, as drops of dew, — 
'' And with it I am doomed to live and die ; 
The rain and sunshine are my caterers. 
Nor have I other bliss than simple life ; 
Now ask me what thou wilt, that I can give, 
And with a thankful joy it shall be thine." 

Then Rhoecus, with a flutter at the heart. 
Yet, by the prompting of such beauty, bold, 
Answered : " What is there that can satisfy 
The endless craving of the soul but love? 
Give me thy love, or but the hope of that 
Which must be evermore my spirit's goal." 
After a little pause she said again. 
But with a glimpse of sadness in her tone, 
" I give it, Rhoecus, though a perilous gift ; 
An hour before the sunset meet me here." 
And straightway there was nothing he could see 
But the green glooms beneath the shadowy oak. 




*"■ iiinTr t^^- y- ■ ■t-'Mfm^^^mm 



' When Bacchus first beheld the desolate 
A nd sleeping A riadne 



GROUP VI. 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND 
MYTHOLOGY. 



The story of Ariadne, through whose cleverness 
Theseus, the semi-mythical founder of Athens, threaded 
the Labyrinth and slew the Minotaur, has been written 
in prose repeatedly ; no one has told it more acceptably 
than Hawthorne in " Tanglewood Tales." But the end 
of this story is not satisfactory so far as the heroine is 
concerned, for the faithless Theseus, when he and the 
rest of his companions are ready to sail for home, basely 
deserts Ariadne, leaving her asleep on the island of 
Naxos. 

The sequel to this tale is found in the writings of 
both Greek and Latin authors. 

We select the following paraphrases on some of 
their poems. 

HOW BACCHUS FINDS ARIADNE SLEEPING. [Nonnus.J 
Mrs. Browning. 

When Bacchus first beheld the desolate 
And sleeping Ariadne, wonder straight 
Was mixed with love in his great golden eyes ; 
199 



200 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

He turned to his Bacchantes in surprise, 

And said with guarded voice : " Hush ! strike no more 

Your brazen cymbals ; keep those voices still 

Of voice and pipe ; and since ye stand before 

Queen Cypris, let her slumber as she will ! 

And yet the cestus is not here in proof. 

A Grace, perhaps, whom sleep has stolen aloof: 

In which case, as the morning shines in view, 

Wake this Aglaia ! yet in Naxos, who 

Would veil a Grace so ? Hush ! And if that she 

Were Hebe, which of all the gods can be 

The pourer-out of wine ? or if we think 

She's like the shining moon by ocean's brink, 

The guide of herds, — why, could she sleep without 

Endymion's breath upon her cheek? or if I doubt 

Of silver- footed Thetis, used to tread 

These shores, — even she (in reverence be it said) 

Has no such rosy beauty to dress deep 

With the blue waves. The Loxian goddess might 

Repose so from her hunting-toil aright 

Beside the sea, since toil gives birth to sleep. 

But who would find her with her tunic loose 

Thus ? Stand off, Thracian ! stand off ! Do not leap. 

Not this way ! Leave that piping, since I choose, 

O dearest Pan, and let Athene rest ! 

And yet if she be Pallas, — truly guessed, — 

Her lance is — where? her helm and aegis — where?" 

As Bacchus closed, the miserable Fair 

Awoke at last, sprang upward from the sands, 

And gazing wild on that wild throng that stands 

Around, around her and no Theseus there ! — 

Her voice went moaning over shore and sea. 

Beside the halcyon's cry ; she called her love ; 

She named her hero, and raged maddeningly 

Against the brine of waters ; and above. 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND MYTHOLOGY. 201 

Sought the ship's track, and cursed the hours she slept, 
And still the chiefest execration swept 
Against Queen Paphia, mother of the ocean ; 
And cursed and prayed by times in her emotion 
The winds all round. 

Her grief did make her glorious ; her despair 
Adorned her with its weight. Poor wailing child ! 
She looked like Venus when the goddess smiled 
At liberty of godship, debonair ; 
Poor Ariadne ! and her eyelids fair 
Hid looks beneath them lent her by Persuasion 
And every Grace, with tears of Love's own passion. 
She wept long ; then she spoke : — " Sweet sleep did come 
While sweetest Theseus went. O, glad and dumb 
I wish he had left me still ! for in my sleep 
I saw his Athens, and did gladly keep 
My new bride-state within my Theseus' hall ; 
And heard the pomp of Hymen, and the call 
Of 'Ariadne, Ariadne,' sung 
In choral joy ; and there, with joy, I hung 
. Spring-blossoms round love's altar ! ay, and wore 
A wreath myself; and felt him evermore, 
Oh, evermore beside me, with his mighty 
Grave head bowed down in prayer to Aphrodite ! 
Why, what a sweet, sweet dream ! He went with it 
And left me here unwedded where I sit ! 
Persuasion help me ! The dark night did make me 
A brideship the fair morning takes away ; 
My Love had left me when the Hour did wake me ; 
And while I dreamed of marriage, as I say. 
And blest it well, my blessed Theseus left me ; 
And thus the sleep I loved so has bereft me. 
Speak to me, rocks, and tell my grief to-day, 
Who stole my love of Athens ? " ... 



202 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

HOW BACCHUS COMFORTS ARIADNE. 

Mrs. Browning. 

Then Bacchus' subtle speech her sorrow crossed : — 

" O maiden, dost thou mourn for having lost 

The false Athenian heart? and dost thou still 

Take thought of Theseus, when thou mayst at will 

Have Bacchus for a husband ? Bacchus bright ! 

A god in place of mortal ! Yes, and though 

The mortal youth be charming in thy sight, 

That man of Athens cannot strive below, 

In beauty and valor, with my deity ! 

Thou'lt tell me of the labyrinthine dweller, 

The fierce man-bull he slew : I pray thee, be. 

Fair Ariadne, the true deed's true teller. 

And mention thy clue's help ! because, forsooth, 

Thine armed Athenian hero had not found 

A power to fight on that prodigious ground. 

Unless a lady in her rosy youth 

Had lingered near him ; not to speak the truth 

Too definitely out till names be known — 

Like Paphia's — Love's — and Ariadne's own. 

Thou wilt not say that Athens can compare 

With ^ther, nor that Minos rules like Zeus, 

Nor yet that Gnossus has such golden air 

As high Olympus. Ha ! for noble use 

We came to Naxos ! Love has well intended 

To change thy bridegroom ! Happy thou, defended 

From entering Theseus' earthly hall, 

That thou mayst hear the laughters rise and fall 

Instead, where Bacchus rules ! Or wilt thou choose 

A still-surpassing glory ? — take it all, — 

A heavenly house, Kronion's self for kin, — 

A place where Cassiopea sits within 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND MYTHOLOGY. 203 

Inferior light, for all her daughter's sake 

Since Perseus, even amid the stars, must take 

Andromeda in chains setherial ! 

But / will wreathe thee, sweet, an astral crown, 

iVnd as my queen and spouse thou shalt be known — 

Mine, the crown-lover's ! " Thus, at length, he proved 

His comfort on her ; and the maid was moved ; 

And casting Theseus' memory down the brine, 

She straight received the troth of her divine 

Fair Bacchus ; Love stood by to close the rite : 

The marriage-chorus struck up clear and light. 

Flowers sprouted fast about the chamber green. 

And with spring-garlands on their heads, I ween. 

The Orchomenian dancers came along. 

And danced their rounds in Naxos to the song. 

A Hamadryad sang a nuptial dit 

Right shrilly ; and a Naiad sate beside 

A fountain, with her bare foot shelving it. 

And hymned of Ariadne, beauteous bride. 

Whom thus the god of grapes had deified. 

Ortygia sang out, louder than her wont. 

An ode which Phoebus gave her to be tried, 

And leapt in chorus, with her steadfast front, 

While prophet Love, the stars have called a brother, 

Burnt in his crown, and twined in one another 

His love-flower with the purple roses, given 

In type of that new crown assigned in heaven. 

Note. — For allusions to Ariadne's crown, see Longfellow's poem, 
" The Hanging of the Grane." 

THE SLEEPING ARIADNE. 

This statue is in the Museum of Sculpture in the 
Vatican and it has a world-wide fame. It is said to be 



204 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE, 

one of the finest pieces of sculpture in Italy. A copy 
is in the Athenaeum gallery, Boston. 

BACCHUS AND ARIADNE. 

Hesiod, 850 B.C. [Mrs, Browning's Translation.] 

The golden-haired Bacchus did espouse 

That fairest Ariadne, Minos' daughter, 
And made her wifehood blossom in the house ; 

Where such protective gifts Kronion brought her, 
Nor Death nor Age could find her when they sought her. 

THE ORIGINAL SOURCES OF AN HISTORICAL POEM. 

It has been stated that the possession of knowledge 
sufficient to understand Tennyson's *' A Dream of Fair 
Women," in every detail, presupposes a liberal educa- 
tion. It may also be said that the pleasure of acquir- 
ing the necessary kind of knowledge to interpret this 
poem will be greatly enhanced by going to the original 
sources for it. The mystery surrounding the '* fair 
women " whose names are not given in the poem, may 
be cleared by consulting a few authors to whose works 
we invite the attention of our readers. 

The first lady who is unwilling to tell the poet her 
name gives the clue to her identity by mentioning her 
beauty and the effect of it. For a complete understand- 
ing of this stanza, the third book of the " Iliad " should 
be read. The second tells the poet her history briefly. 
In the fourth group of this book the student will find a 
translation of the original drama of which she is the 
heroine. The third tells her story more in detail and 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND MYTHOLOGY. 205 

the poet also adds his description of her, so that the 
famous queen of Egypt needs no further introduction. 
Shakspeare has taken her from history, and given her 
a higher niche in the Temple of Fame in one of his 
dramas. The fourth is "the daughter of the warrior 
Gileadite." Her story will be found in the Book of 
Judges, Chapter XI. 

The history of " that Rosamond whom men call fair " 
is given in Agnes Strickland's '' Lives of the Queens of 
England," in connection with the life of Eleanor, wife 
■of Henry H. of England. 

For the history of " her who clasp'd in her last 
trance her murder'd father's head," read the account of 
Sir Thomas More's execution and the disposal of his 
body, '' Reign of Henry VHI." 

The story of Joan of Arc, '' a light of ancient France," 
has been told by so many historians and poets that the 
student scarcely needs a reference to any particular 
work; however, Southey's poem and Mrs. Charles's 
prose story, called "Joan, the Maid," are worthy of 
careful perusal. 

The student should read the story of the fifth crusade 
under Prince Edward of England, afterwards Edward I. 
of the Norman line of kings, for the last incident related 
in the poem. 

Note. — After the student has become familiar "with the characters 
found in this poem, he should be able to appreciate somewhat, the rare 
power shown by the poet in adapting to his own use, the romance of his- 
tory. 

A comparison of each of these " fair women " as she appears here, with 
her original portrait will aid the student in determining whether Tenny- 
son's delineations are apt or accurate. 



206 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN. 

Tennyson. 

I read, before my eyelids dropt their shade, 
" The Legend of Good Women," long ago 

Sung by the morning star of song, who made 
His music heard below ; 

Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath 
Preluded those melodious bursts that fill 

The spacious times of great Elizabeth 
With sounds that echo still. 

And, for a while, the knowledge of his art 
Held me above the subject, as strong gales 

Hold swollen clouds from raining, tho' my heart. 
Brimful of those wild tales. 

Charged both mine eyes with tears. In every land 

I saw, wherever fight illuraineth. 
Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand 

The downward slope to death. 

Those far-renowned brides of ancient song 
Peopled the hollow dark, fike burning stars, 

And I heard sounds of insult, shame, and wrong, 
And trumpets blown for wars ; 

And clattering flints batter'd with clanging hoofs ; 

And I saw crowds in column'd sanctuaries 
And forms that pass'd at windows, and on roofs 

Of marble palaces ; 

Corpses across the threshold ; heroes tall 

Dislodging pinnacle and parapet 
Upon the tortoise creeping to the wall ; 

Lances in ambush set ; 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND MYTHOLOGY. 207 

And high shrine-doors burst thro' with heated blasts 
That run before the fluttering tongues of fire ; 

White surf wind-scatter' d over sails and masts, 
And ever dimbing higher ; 

Squadrons and squares of men in brazen plates, 
Scaffolds, still sheets of water, divers woes. 

Ranges of glimmering vaults with iron grates. 
And hush'd seraglios. 

So shape chased shape as swift as when to land 
Bluster the winds and tides the self-same way. 

Crisp foam-flakes scud along the level sand 
Torn from the fringe of spray. 

I started once, or seem'd to start in pain. 

Resolved on noble things, and strove to speak, 

As when a great thought strikes along the brain. 
And flushes all the cheek. 

And once my arm was lifted to hew down 

A cavalier from off his saddle-bow, 
That bore a lady from a leaguer'd town ; 

And then, I know not how. 

All those sharp fancies, by down-lapsing thought 
Stream'd onward, lost their edges, and did creep 

Roll'd on each other, rounded, smooth'd, and brought 
Into the gulfs of sleep. 

At last me thought that I had wander 'd far 
In an old wood : fresh-wash'd in coolest dew 

The maiden splendors of the morning star 
Shook in the steadfast blue. 

Enormous elm-tree boles did stoop and lean 
Upon the dusky brushwood underneath 



208 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Their broad curved branches, fledged with clearest green, 
New from its silken sheath. 

The dim red morn had died, her journey done, 
And with dead hps smiled at the twilight plain, 

Half-fall'n across the threshold of the sun. 
Never to rise again. 

There was no motion in the dumb dead air. 

Nor any song of bird or sound of rill ; 
Gross darkness of the inner sepulchre 

Is not so deadly still 

As that wide forest. Growths of jasmine turn'd 
Their humid arms festooning tree to tree, 

And, at the root, thro' lush-green grasses, burn'd 
The red anemone. 

I knew the flowers, I knew the leaves, I knew 
The tearful glimmer of the languid dawn 

On those long, rank, dark wood-walks drench'd in dew. 
Leading from lawn to lawn. 

The smell of violets, hidden in the green, 
Pour'd back into my empty soul and frame 

The times when I remember to have been 
Joyful and free from blame. 

And from within me a clear under-tone 

Thrill'd thro' mine ears in that unbHssful clime, 

" Pass freely thro' : the wood is all thine own, 
Until the end of time." 

At length I saw a lady within call, 

Stiller than chisell'd marble, standing there ; 

A daughter of the gods, divinely tafl. 
And most divinely fair. 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND MYTHOLOGY. 209 

Her loveliness with shame and with surprise 

Froze my swift speech ; she, turning on my face 

The star-like sorrows of immortal eyes, 
Spoke slowly in her place. 

" I had great beauty : ask thou not my name : 
No one can be more wise than destiny. 

Many drew swords and died. Where'er I came 
I brought calamity." 

" No marvel, sovereign lady : in fair field 
Myself for such a face had boldly died," 

I answer'd free ; and turning I appeal'd 
To one that stood beside. 

But she, with sick and scornful looks averse, 
To her full height her stately stature draws ; 

" My youth," she said, " was blasted with a curse : 
This woman was the cause. 

" I was cut off from hope in that sad place. 

Which yet to name my spirit loathes and fears ; 

My father held his hand upon his face ; 
I blinded with my tears, 

" Still strove to speak : my voice was thick with sighs 
As in a dream. Dimly I could descry 

The stern black-bearded kings with wolfish eyes, 
Waiting to see me die. 

" The high masts flicker'd as they lay afloat ; 

The crowds, the temples, waver'd, and the shore ; 
The bright death quiver'd at the victim's throat ; 

Touch'd; and I knew no more." 

Whereto the other with a downward brow : 
" I would the white cold heavy-plunging foam 



210 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Whirl'd by the wind, had roll'd me deep below, 
Then when I left my home." 

Her slow full words sank thro' the silence drear, 
As thunder-drops fall on a sleeping sea ; 

Sudden I heard a voice that cried, " Come here, 
That I may look on thee." 

I turning saw, throned on a flowery rise, 
One sitting on a crimson scarf unroll'd ; 

A queen with swarthy cheeks and bold black eyes, 
Brow-bound with burning gold. 

She, flashing forth a haughty smile, began : 
^' I govern'd men by change, and so I sway'd 

All moods. 'Tis long since I have seen a man. 
Once, hke the moon, I made 

" The ever-shifting currents of the blood 
According to my humor ebb and flow. 

I have no men to govern in this wood : 
That makes my only woe. 

"Nay — yet it chafes me that I could not bend 
One will ; nor tame and tutor with mine eye 

That dull cold-blooded Caesar. Prythee, friend, 
Where is Mark Antony? 

"The man, my lover, with whom I rode sublime 
On Fortune's neck : we sat as god by god : 

The Nilus would have risen before his time 
And flooded at our nod. 

" We drank the Libyan Sun to sleep, and lit 
Lamps which outburn'd Canopus. O my life 

In Egypt ! O the daUiance and the wit. 
The flattery and the strife, 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND MYTHOLOGY. 211 

" And the wild kiss, when fresh from war's alarms, 

My Hercules, my Roman Antony, 
My mailed Bacchus leapt into my arms, 

Contented there to die ! 

" And there he died : and when I heard my name 
Sigh'd forth with life I would not brook my fear - 

Of the other : with a worm I balk'd his fame. 
What else was left? look here ! " 

(With that she tore her robe apart, and half 
The poHsh'd argent of her breast to sight 

Laid bare. Thereto she pointed with a laugh, 
Showing the aspic's bite.) 

" I died a Queen. The Roman soldier found 
Me lying dead, my crown about my brows, 

A name forever ! — lying robed and crown'd 
Worthy a Roman spouse." 

Her warbling voice, a lyre of widest range 

Struck by all passion, did fall down and glance 

From tone to tone, and glided thro' all change 
Of livehest utterance. 

When she made pause I knew not for delight : 
Because with sudden motion from the ground 

She rais'd her piercing orbs, and fill'd with light 
The interval of sound. 

Still with their fires Love tipt his keenest darts ; 

As once they drew into two burning rings 
All beams of Love, melting the mighty hearts 

Of captains and of kings. 

Slowly my sense undazzled. Then I heard 
A noise of some one coming thro' the lawn. 



212 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

And singing clearer than the crested bird 
That claps his wings at dawn. 

" The torrent brooks of hallow'd Israel, 

From craggy hollows pouring, late and soon, 

Sound all night long, in falling thro' the dell, 
Far-heard beneath the moon. 

"The balmy moon of blessed Israel 

Floods all the deep-blue gloom with beams divine : 
All night the splinter'd crags that wall the dell 

With spires of silver shine." 

As one that museth where broad sunshine laves 
The lawn by some cathedral, thro' the door 

Hearing the holy organ rolling waves 
Of sound on roof and floor 

Within, and anthem sung, is charm'd and tied 
To where he stands, — so stood I, when that flow 

Of music left the lips of her that died 
To save her father's vow; 

The daughter of the warrior Gileadite ; 

A maiden pure, as when she went along 
From Mizpeh's tower'd gate with welcome light, 

With timbrel and with song. 

My words leapt forth : '' Heaven heads the count of crimes 
With that wild oath." She render'd answer high : 

" Not so, nor once alone ; a thousand times 
I would be born and die. 

" Single I grew, like some green plant, whose root 

Creeps to the garden water-pipes beneath 
Feeding the flower ; but ere my flower to fruit 

Changed, I was ripe for death. 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND MYTHOLOGY. 213 

"My God, my land, my father — these did move 
Me from my bUss of Hfe, that Nature gave, 

Lower'd softly with a threefold cord of love 
Down to a silent grave. 

" And I went mourning, ' No fair Hebrew boy 
Shall smile away my maiden blame among 

The Hebrew mothers ' — emptied of all joy. 
Leaving the dance and song, 

" Leaving the oHve-gardens far below. 
Leaving the promise of my bridal bower. 

The valleys of grape-loaded vines that glow 
Beneath the battled tower. 

"The light white cloud swam over us. Anon 
We heard the lion roaring from his den ; 

We saw the large white stars rise one by one. 
Or from the darken'd glen, 

" Saw God divide the night with flying flame, 

And thunder on the everlasting hills. 
I heard Him, for He spake, and grief became 

A solemn scorn of ills. 

" When the next moon was roll'd into the sky. 
Strength came to me that equall'd my desire. 

How beautiful a thing it was to die 
For God and for my sire ! 

" It comforts me in this one thought to dwell, 
That I subdued me to my father's will ; 

Because the kiss he gave me ere I fell 
Sweetens the spirit still. 

" Moreover it is written that my race 

Hew'd Ammon, hip and thigh, from Aroer 



214 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

On Arnon unto Minneth." Here her face 
Glow'd as I look'd at her. 

She lock'd her hps : she left me where I stood : 
"Glory to God," she sang, and past afar, 

Thridding the sombre boskage of the wood, 
Toward the morning star. 

Losing her carol I stood pensively. 

As one that from a casement leans his head, 

When midnight bells cease ringing suddenly, 
And the old year is dead. 

" Alas ! alas ! " a low voice full of care, 

Murmur'd beside me : " Turn and look on me. 

I am that Rosamond, whom men call fair, 
If what I was I be. 

" Would I had been some maiden coarse and poor ! 

O me, that I should ever see the light ! 
Those dragon eyes of anger'd Eleanor 

Do hunt me, day and night." 

She ceased in tears, fallen from hope and trust : 
" To whom the Egyptian : " O, you tamely died ! 

You should have clung to Fulvia's waist, and thrust 
The dagger thro' her side." 

With that sharp sound the white dawn's creeping beams, 
Stolen to my brain, dissolved the mystery 

Of folded sleep. The captain of my dreams 
Ruled in the eastern sky. 

Morn broaden'd on the borders of the dark 
Ere I saw her, who clasp'd in her last trance 

Her murder'd father's head, or Joan of Arc, 
A light of ancient France ; 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND MYTHOLOGY. 215 

Or her, who knew that Love can vanquish Death, 
Who kneehng, with one arm about her king, 

Drew forth the poison with her bahny breath, 
Sweet as new buds in Spring. 

No memory labors longer from the deep 
Gold-mines of thought to hft the hidden ore 

That glimpses, moving up, than I from sleep 
To gather and tell o'er 

Each little sound and sight. With what dull pain 
Compass'd, how eagerly I sought to strike 

Into that wondrous track of dreams again ! 
But no two dreams are like. 

As when a soul laments, which hath been blest, 
Desiring what is mingled with past years, 

In yearnings that can never be exprest 
By signs or groans or tears ; 

Because all words, tho' cull'd with choicest art, 

Failing to give the bitter of the sweet. 
Wither beneath the palate, and the heart 

Faints, faded by its heat. 



THE DAYS OF THE WEEK. 

In the names that have been given to the days of 
the week, we find concealed the mythology both of 
Southern and of Northern Europe. 

Raphael's " Days " illustrate the former, and the 
seven sonnets here given, the latter. 



216 FO UNDA TION S 7 ' UDIES IN LITE RA T URE. 

THE SEVEN DAYS. 

Mrs. Frances L. Mace. 

(^Atlantic Monthly, March, 1881.) 

Monday. (Day of the Moon.) 

Dianaj sister of the Sun ! thy ray 

Governs these opening hours. The world is wide, 

We know not what new evil may betide 
This six days' journey ; by what unknown way 
We come at last unto the royal day 

Of prophecy and promise. Oh, preside 

Propitious, and our doubting footsteps guide 
Onward and sunward. Long in shadows gray 
We have but slumbered — hidden from our view 

Knowledge and wisdom in unfruitful night. 
But, if upon the dawn's unfolding blue 

Thy hand this day our destiny must write, 
Once more our outer, inward life renew 

With Heaven's first utterance — '^ Let there be light." 

Tuesday. 

(Day of the War-God.) 

Fear not, O soul, to-day ! Imperial Mars 

Leads on the hours, a brave and warlike train. 
Fire in his glance, and splendor in his reign. 

From the first glitter through the sunrise bars 

Till his red banner flames among the stars ! 
Thou too go forth, and fully armed maintain 
Duty and right. The hero is not slain. 

Though pierced and wounded in a hundred wars. 

The daring are the deathless. He alone 
Is victor who stays not for any doom 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND MYTHOLOGY. 217 

Foreshadowed ; utters neither sigh nor moan 
Death-stricken, but right onward, his fair plume 
Scorched in the battle flame, through smoke and gloom 

Strikes for the right, nor counts his life his own. 

Wednesday. 

(Day of Odin.) 

The mighty Odin rides abroad, and earth 

Trembles, and echoes back his ghostly sigh, 

More deep than thought, more sad than memory. 
The very birds rejoice in timid mirth. 
For in the forest sudden gusts have birth, 

And harsh against the pale appeahng sky 

Ascends his ravens' melancholy cry. 
Peace be with Odin. Of his ancient worth 
Many and proud the tales we will repeat. 

For sacred memories to these hours belong. 
But yesterday with reckless speed our feet 

Dared the bold height. With spirit no less strong 
To-day step softly. After battle's heat 

Warriors and wars are only themes for song. 

THURSDAY. 

(Day of the Mighty.) 

White-robed, white-crowned, and borne by steeds snow-white, 
The thunderer rolls across the echoing skies ! 
No hour is this to dream of past surprise. 
Or with old runes the memory to delight. 

The mountain tops with prophet beams are bright. 
The eagle soars aloft with jubilant cries ! 
Thou too ; unto the hills lift up thine eyes ; 
To some new throne these sacred signs invite. 
Learn thy own strength ; and if some secret sense 
Of power untried pervades thy low estate. 



218 FOUA'DATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Bend thy soul's purest, best intelligence 
To seek the mastery of time and fate. 

Courage and deathless hope and toil intense 
Are the crown jewels of the truly great. 

FRIDAY. 

(Day of the Beautiful.) 

In the world-garden walled with living green 

The foam-born goddess of delight to-day 

Plucks glowing garlands for her own array. 
Poppy and myrtle in her wreath are seen, 
And roses, bending o'er her brow serene. 

Blush to perceive she is more fair than they. 

Sweet grasses at her feet their odors lay, 
While doves, low warbling, hover round their queen. 
In this brief life shall ever toil and care 

Hold fast our wishes? Earth's bewildering bowers, 
Her streams melodious and her woodlands fair 

Are palaces for gods. The world is ours ! 
Beauty and love our birthright ; we will share 

The sunshine, and the singing, and the flowers ! 

SATURDAY. 

(Day of Saturn.) 

Though bright with jewels and with garlands dressed, 

The bloom decays, the world is growing old ! 

Lost are the days when peaceful Saturn told 
The arts to men and shared their toil or rest 
With eloquence divine. The Olympian guest 

Took with him in his flight the age of gold ! 

Westward through myriad centuries has rolled 
The ceaseless pilgrimage, the hopeless quest 

For the true Fatherland. Through weary years 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND AIYTHOLOGY. 219 

What if some rainbow glory spans the gloom? 

Some strong, sweet utterance the wayside cheers? 
Or gladness opens Hke a rose in bloom ? 

Step after step the fatal moment nears ; 
Earth for new graves is ever making room. 

SUNDAY. 

(Day of the Sun.) 

Thou glorious Sun, illumining the blue 

Highway of heaven ! to thy triumphing rays 
The earth her shadow yields, the hill-tops blaze ; 
Up lifts the mist, up floats the midnight dew. 
Old things are passed away ; the world is new ; 
Labor is changed to rest and rest to praise ; 
Past are the toilsome heights, the stormy days. 
The eternal Future breaks upon our view ! 
Last eve we lingered uttering our farewells, 

But lo ! One met us in the early light 
Of this divinest morn. The tale He tells 

Transfigures life, and opens heaven to sight. 
Bring altar flowers ! Lilies and asphodels ! 
Sing Jubilates ! Thei-e is no 7?wre night J 

Note. — In numbering the days of the week we call Sunday the first. 
This custom dates only from the earliest Christian times. As our Saviour 
rose from the dead on Sunday, the Christians wishing to keep the Resur- 
rection always in mind, began to reckon the days from that event; and, 
in fact, our entire method of computing time is based upon the Birth of 
Christ. 

Balder, or Baldur, is the name given to the Sun-god 
in Norse mythology. The name also means lord or 
king. The myth of Balder has furnished a congenial 
subject for many modern poets, Matthew Arnold, Wil- 



220 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE, 

liam Morris ("Earthly Paradise"), Robert Buchanan, 
W. M. W. Call, and Longfellow ('' Tegner's Drapa "). 
The author of the poem selected should not be nameless, 
for it has unquestionable merit. 

BALDER. 

Anonymous. 

Balder, the white sun-god, has departed ! 

Beautiful as summer dawn was he ; 
Loved of gods and men — the royal-hearted 
Balder, the white sun-god, has departed — 

Has gone home where all the brave ones be. 

For the tears of the imperial mother, 

For a universe that weeps and prays, 
Rides Hermoder forth to seek his brother — 
Rides for love of that distressful mother 

Through lead-colored glens and 'cross blue ways. 

With the howling wind and raving torrent, 

Nine days rode he, deep and deeper down, — 
Reached the vast death-kingdom, rough and 'horrent. 
Reached the lonely bridge that spans the torrent 
Of the moaning river by Hell-town. 

There he found the ancient portress standing — 

Vexer of the mind and of the heart : 
" Balder came this way," to his demanding 
Cried aloud that ancient portress standing — 

'' Balder came, but Balder did depart ; 

" Here he could not dwell. He is down yonder — 

Northward, further, in the death-realm he." 
Rode Hermoder on in silent wonder — 
Mane of Gold fled fast and rushed down yonder 1 
Brave and good must young Hermoder be. 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND MYTHOLOGY. 221 

For he leaps sheer over Hela's portal, 

Drops into the huge abyss below. 
There he saw the beautiful immortal — 
Saw him, Balder, under Hela's portal — 

Saw him, and forgot his pain and woe. 

" O, my Balder ! have I, have I found thee ? 

Balder, beautiful as summer morn? 
O, my sun-god ! hearts of heroes crowned thee 
For their king ; they lost, but now have found thee, 

Gods and men shall not be left forlorn. 

Balder ! brother ! the Divine has vanished ; 

The eternal splendors all have fled ; 
Truth and love and nobleness are banished, 
The heroic and divine have vanished ; 

Nature has no god, and earth lies dead. 

" Come thou back my Balder — king and brother ! 

Teach the hearts of men to love the gods ! 
Come thou back and comfort our great mother — 
Come with truth and bravery, Balder, brother — 

Bring the godlike back to men's abodes ! " 

But the Nomas let him pray unheeded — 

Balder never was to come again. 
Vainly, vainly young Hermoder pleaded — 
Balder never was to come. Unheeded, 

Young Hermoder wept and prayed in vain. 

Oh, the trueness of this ancient story ! 

Even now it is, as it was then. 
Earth has lost a portion of her glory ; 
And like Balder, in the ancient story, 

Never comes the beautiful again. 



222 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Still the young Hermoder journeys bravely, 

Through lead-colored glens and 'cross blue ways ; 
Still he calls his brother, pleading gravely — 
Still to the death-kingdom ventures bravely — 
Calmly to the eternal terror prays. 

But the fates relent not ; strong endeavor, 

Courage, noble feeling, are in vain ; 
For the beautiful has gone forever. 
Vain are courage, genius, strong endeavor — 

Never comes the beautiful again. 

Do you think I counsel weak despairing? 

No ! hke young Hermoder I would ride ; 
With an humble, yet a gallant daring, 
I would leap unquailing, undespairing. 

Over the huge precipice's side. 

Dead and gone is the old world's ideal. 

The old arts and old religion fled ; 
But I gladly live among the real 
And I seek a worthier ideal. 

Courage, brothers, God is overhead. 

Notes. — Compare the story of Balder with the story of Apollo. What 
resemblances do you discover? What differences are most marked? 

Do you think it probable or improbable that these stories had a com- 
mon origin? Give the reason for your answer. 

The follov^^ing dispatch to the London Times inspired 
Edmund C. Stedman to write his poem *' News from 
Olympia," which was published in the Atlantic Mo7ithly 
for February, 1877. 

" One after the other the figures described by 
Pausanias are dragged from the earth. Nike (Victory) 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND MYTHOLOGY. 223 

has been found ; the head of Kladeos is there ; Myrtilos 
is announced, and Zeus will soon emerge. This is 
earnest of what may follow." 

NEWS FROM OLYMPIA. 

Olympia? Yes, strange tidings from the city 

Which pious mortals builded, stone by stone, 
For those old gods of Hellas, half in pity 

Of their storm-mantled height and dwelling lone, — 
Their seat upon the mountain overhanging 

Where Zeus withdrew behind the roUing cloud, 
Where crowned Apollo sang, the phorminx twanging, 

And at Poseidon's word the forests bowed. 
Ay, but that fated day 

When from the plain Olympia passed away ; 
When ceased the oracles, and long unwept 

Amid their fanes the gods deserted fell, 
While sacerdotal ages, as they slept. 

The ruin covered well ! 

The pale Jew flung his cross, thus one has written, 

Among them as they sat at the high feast, 
And saw the gods, before that token smitten. 

Fade slowly, while His presence still increased. 
Until the seas Ionian and ^gaean 

Gave out a cry that Pan himself was dead. 
And all was still ; thenceforth no more the paean, 

No more by men the prayer to Zeus was said. 

Sank, like a falHng star, 
Hephaistos in the Lemnian waters far ; 
The silvery Huntress fled the darkened sky ; 
Dim grew Athene's helm, Apollo's crown ; 



224 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Alpheios' nymphs stood wan and trembling by 
When Hera's fane went down. 

News ! what news ? Has it in truth then ended^ 

The term appointed for that wondrous sleep ? 
Has Earth so well her fairest brood defended 

Within her bosom ? Was their slumber deep, 
Not this our dreamless rest that knows no waking, 

But that to which the years are as a day? 
What ! are they coming back, their prison breaking, 

These gods of Homer's chant, of Pindar's lay ? 

Are they coming back in might, 

Olympia's gods, to claim their ancient right? 

Shall then the sacred majesty of old. 

The grace that holy was, the noble rage, 
Temper our strife, abate our greed for gold, 

Make fine the modern age ? 

Yes, they are coming back, to light returning ! 

Bold are the hearts and void of fear the hands 
That toil, the lords of War and Spoil unurning. 

Or of their sisters fair that break the bands ; 
That loose the sovran mistress of desire. 

Queen Aphrodite, to possess the earth 
Once more ; that dare renew dread Hera's ire, 

And rouse old Pan to wantonness of mirth. 

The herald Nike first. 

From the dim resting-place unfettered burst, 

Winged victor over fate and time and death ! 

Zeus follows next, and all his children then ; 
Phoibos awakes and draws a joyous breath. 

And Love returns to men. 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND MYTHOLOGY. 225 

Ah, let them come, the glorious Immortals, 

Rulers no more but with mankind to dwell. 
The dear companions of our hearts and portals, 

Voiceless, unworshipped, yet beloved right well ! 
Pallas shall sit enthroned in wisdom's station, 

Eros and Psyche be forever wed, 
And still the primal loveliest creation 

Yield new delight from ancient beauty bred. 

Triumphant as of old, 

Changeless while Art and Song their warrant hold. 

The visions of our childhood haunt us still. 

Still Hellas sways us with her charm supreme ; 
The morn is past, but Man has not the will 

To banish yet the dream. 



THE ORIGIN OF THE SONNET. 
E. T. Benedict. 

Beside the southern sea, in days of old, 

Once stood Apollo, with the Graces three^ 

The Muses and their mother, Memory — 

In all fourteen — to sing the age of gold. 

And first Apollo's voice in music rolled. 

Then each in turn sang to the listening sea^ 

Till Memory took up the melody. 

And in her thoughtful voice the end was told. 

Thus then was born the sonnet. 'Tis the lord 

Of all the figments of a poet's brain, 

If to its fourteen lines he can award 

That order of Apollo and his train — 

The god of Song to strike the opening chord, 

While Memory evokes the closing strain. 

Q 



226 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

THE FIRST FAN. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

When rose the cry, " Great Pan is dead ! " 
And Jove's high palace closed its portal, 

The fallen gods, before they fled. 
Sold out their frippery to a mortal. 

■^ To whom ? " you ask. I ask of you. 

The answer hardly needs suggestion ; 
Of course it was the Wandering Jew, — 

How could you put me such a question^ 

A purple robe, a little worn. 

The thunderer deigned himself to offer ; 
The bearded wanderer laughed in scorn, — 

You know he always was a scoffer. 

ib. ^ ilt »!i ^ ^ jfc. 

The ice was broken ; up they came, 

All sharp for bargains, god and goddess, 

Each ready with the price to name 

For robe or head-dress, scarf or bodice. 

First Juno, out of temper too, 

Her queenly forehead somewhat cloudy, 
Then Pallas in her stockings blue, 

Imposing, but a little dowdy. 
******* 
But as for Pallas, — how to tell 

In seemly phrase a fact so shocking? 
She pointed, — pray excuse me, — well. 

She pointed to her azure stocking. 

And if the honest truth were told. 

Its heel confessed the need of darning. 



THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND MYTHOLOGY. Ill 

" Gods ! " low-bred Vulcan cried, " behold ! 

There ! that's what comes of too much larning." 

Pale Proserpine came groping round, 

Her pupils dreadfully dilated 
With too much living underground, — 

A residence quite overrated ; 

"This kerchief's what you want, I know, — 
Don't cheat poor Venus of her cestus, — 

You'll find it handy when you go 

To — you know where ; it's pure asbestus." 

Then Phoebus of the silver bow. 

And He'-be, dimpled as a baby. 
And Dian with the breast of snow, 

Chaser and chased — and caught, it may be : 

y^ n^ y^ 7^ 7^ 7^ 7^ 

Then Mars the foe of human kind 

Strode up and showed his suit of armor ; 

So none at last was left behind 
Save Venus, the celestial charmer. 

Her gems were sold, her sandals gone, — 
She always would be rash and flighty, — 

Her winter garments all in pawn, 
Alas for charming Aphrodite ! 

The lady of a thousand loves. 

The darling of the old religion, 
Had only left of all the doves 

That drew her car, one fan-tailed pigeon. 

* * ^ # * * * 

" My bird, I want your train," she cried ; 
" Come, don't let's have a fuss about it; 



228 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

I'll make it beauty's pet and pride, 
And you'll be better off without it." 

* * * * ^ * * 

The goddess spoke, and gently stripped 
Her bird of every caudal feather ; 

A strand of gold-bright hair she clipped, 
And bound the glossy plumes together, 

And lo, the Fan ! for beauty's hand, 
The lovely queen of beauty made it ; 

The price she named was hard to stand. 
But Venus smiled : the Hebrew paid it. 

Jove, Juno, Venus, where are you ? 

Mars, Neptune, Phoebus, Mercury, Saturn? 
But o'er the world, the Wandering Jew 

Has borne the Fan's celestial pattern. 

So everywhere we find the Fan, — 

In lonely isles of the Pacific, 
In farthest China and Japan, — 

Wherever suns are sudorific. 



Before this new Pandora's gift 

In slavery woman's tyrant kept her. 

But now he kneels her glove to lift, — 
The fan is mightier than the scepter. 

******* 

But every one that swings to-night, 
Of fairest shape, from farthest region, 

May trace its pedigree aright 

To Aphrodite's fan- tailed pigeon. 



GROUP VII. 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 

The poems contained in this group have been selected 
with a view to show the effect that the birth of Christ, 
His life, His teaching, and the religion founded by Him, 
had upon the worship of false gods. 

The conflict between Christianity and Paganism 
must necessarily have been long and severe, and the 
great theatre of that struggle was in Rome — " Rome 
that sat upon her seven hills, and from her throne of 
empire ruled the world," The birth of Christ is the 
great landmark in the history of the human race, as 
the whole civilized world reckons time from that event 
before and after. 

Perhaps we shall be the better prepared to read his- 
tory, both civil and religious, without prejudice and with 
minds open to receive truth, by a careful study of these 
poems. 

A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

Alfred Dommett. 

It was the calm and silent night ! 

Seven hundred years and fifty-three 

Had Rome been growing up to might, 

And now was queen of land and sea. 
229 



230 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE, 

No sound was heard of clashing wars — 

Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain : 
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars 

Held undisturbed their ancient reign, 
In the solemn midnight, 
Centuries ago. 

'Twas in the calm and silent night ! 

The senator of haughty Rome, 
Impatient, urged his chariot's flight, 

From lordly revel rolling home ; 
Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell 

His breast with thoughts of boundless sway ; 
What wrecked the Roman what befel 

A paltry province far away, 
In the solemn midnight, 
Centuries ago? 

Within that province far away 

Went plodding home a weary boor ; 
A streak of light before him lay. 

Fallen through a half-shut stable door 
Across his path. He passed — for naught 

Told what was going on within ; 
How keen the stars, his only thought — 

The air how calm, and cold, and thin. 
In the solemn midnight, 
Centuries ago ! 

O, strange indifference ! low and high 
Drowsed over common joys and cares; 

The earth was still — but knew not why 
The world was listening, unawares. 

How calm a moment may precede 

One that shall thrill the world forever ! 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 231 

To that still moment, none would heed, 

Man's doom was Imked no more to sever — 
In the solemn midnight, 
Centuries ago ! 

It is the calm and solemn night ! 

A thousand bells ring out, and throw 
Their joyous peals abroad, and smite 

The darkness — charmed and holy now ! 
The night that erst no name had worn. 

To it a happy name is given ; 
For in that stable lay, new-born, 

The peaceful prince of earth and heaven, 
In the solemn midnight, 
Centuries ago ! 



THE GODS OF GREECE. 

Schiller. 
I. 

Ye in the age gone by, 

Who ruled the world — a world how lovely then ! — 
And guided still the steps of happy men 

In the light leading-strings of careless joy ! 
Ah, flourished then your service of delight ! 

How different, oh, how different, in the day 
When thy sweet fanes with many a wreath were bright, 

O Venus Amathusia ! 

II. 

Then, the soft vail of dreams 

' Round Truth poetic, witching Fancies wreathed ; 
Through all creation overflowed the streams 

Of Life — and things now senseless, felt and breathed. 



232 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Man gifted Nature with divinity 

To lift and link her to the breast of Love ; 

All things betrayed to the initiate eye 
The track of gods above ! 

III. 

Where lifeless, fixed afar, 

A flaming ball to our dull sense is given, 
Phoebus Apollo, in his golden car, 

In silent glory swept the fields of heaven ! 
Then lived the Dryads in yon forest trees ; 

Then o'er yon mountains did the Oread roam ; 
And from the urns of gentle Naiades 

Welled the wave's silver foam. 

rv. 

Yon bay chaste Daphne wreathed, 

Yon stone was mournful Niobe's mute cell. 
Low through yon sedges pastoral Syrinx breathed, 

And through those groves melodious Philomel ; 
The tears of Ceres swelled in yonder rill — 

Tears shed for Proserpine, to Hades borne ; 
And for her lost Adonis, yonder hill 

Heard Cytherea mourn ! — 



Celestials left their skies 

To mingle with thy race, Deucalion ; 
And Pyrrha's daughters saw in shepherd guise 

Amid Thessalian vales Latona's son. 
Beautiful Hnks with gods and heroes then, 

The Loves uniting, interwove for us ; 
Heroes and gods were worshippers with men 

In Cyprian Amathus ! 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 233 

VI. 
Your gentle service gay, 

Nor self-denial, nor sharp penance knew ; 
Well might each heart be happy in that day — 

For were the happy not akin to you ? 
The beautiful alone the Holy there ! 

No pleasure shamed the gods of that young race ; 
So that the chaste Camsenae favoring were, 

And the subduing Grace. 

VII. 

Your shrines were palaces ; 

Your honoring ministrants were heroes crowned ; 
Your rites were sports — the Isthmian jubilees — 

And chariots thundering o'er Olympian ground. 
Fair round the altar where the incense breathed, 

Moved your melodious dance inspired ; and fair 
Above victorious brows, the garland wreathed 

Sweet leaves round odorous hair ! 

VIII. 

The shouting Thyrsus- swinger, 

And the wild car the exulting Panthers bore. 
Announced the presence of the Rapture-Bringer — ■ 

Bounded the Satyr and blithe Faun before ; 
And Maenads, as the frenzy stung the soul. 

Hymned, in their madding dance, the glorious wine — 
As ever beckoned to the lusty bowl 

The ruddy host divine ! 

IX. 

Before the bed of death 

No ghastly spectre stood : — but from the porch 



234 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE, 

Of life, the lip — one kiss inhaled the breath, 
And a mute Genius gently lowered his torch. 

The judgment-balance of the realms below, 
A judge, himself of mortal lineage, held ; 

The very Furies, at the Thracian's woe 
Were moved and music-spelled. 

X. 

In the Elysian grove 

The Shades renewed the pleasures life held dear 
The faithful spouse rejoined remembered love, 

And rushed along the meads the charioteer ; 
There Linus poured the old accustomed strain, 

Admetus there Alcestis still could greet : 
His friend once more Orestes could regain, 

His arrows — Philoctete ! 

XI. 

More glorious than the meeds 

To Labor choosing Virtue's path sublime. 
The grand achievers of renowned deeds 

Up to the seats of gods themselves could cHmb, 
Before the dauntless Rescuer of the dead. 

Bowed down the silent and immortal Host ; 
And the twin Stars their guiding lustre shed, 

On the bark tempest-tost ! 

XII. 

Art thou fair world, no more ? 

Return, thou virgin-bloom, on Nature's face. 
Ah, only on the Minstrel's magic shore. 

Can we the footstep of sweet Fable trace ! 
The meadows mourn for the old hallowing life ; 

Vainly we search the earth of gods bereft ; 
And where the image w^ith such warmth was rife, 

A shade alone is left ! 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CIIRISTIANirY. 235 

xm. 
Cold, from the North, has gone 

Over the flowers the blast that killed their May, 
And to enrich the worship of the One, 

A Universe of gods must pass away. 
Mourning, I search on yonder starry steeps, 

But thee no more, Selene, there I see ! 
And through the woods I call, and o'er the deeps. 

No voice replies to me ! 

XIV. 

Deaf to the joys she gives — 

Blind to the pomp of which she is possest — 
Unconscious of the spiritual Power that lives 

Around and rules her — by our bliss unblest — 
Dull to the Art that colors or creates. 

Like the dead time-piece, godless Nature creeps 
Her plodding round, and, by the leaden weights, 

The slavish motion keeps. 

XV. 

To-morrow to receive 

New life, she digs her proper grave to-day ; 
And icy moons with weary sameness weave 

From their own light their fulness and decay. 
Home to the Poet's Land the gods are flown, 

Light use in them that later world discerns, 
Which, the diviner leading-strings outgrown, 

On its own axle turns. 

XVI. 

Home ! and with them are gone 

The hues they gazed on and the tones they heard ; • 
Life's Beauty and life's Melody : — alone 

Broods o'er the desolate void the Hfeless word ; 



236 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Yet, rescued from Time's deluge, still thy throng 
Unseen the Pindus they were wont to cherish ; 

Ah, that which gains immortal life in song, 
To mortal life must perish ! 

Mrs. Browning's poem, '' The Dead Pan," was writ- 
ten to express thoughts and feelings opposed to those 
set forth by the German poet, Schiller, in the preceding 
lyric. 

She also embodies in it a legend mentioned by Plu- 
tarch, according to which, at the time of our Saviour's 
agony upon the cross, a cry of " Great Pan is dead ! " 
swept across the waves in the hearing of certain mari- 
ners — and the oracles ceased. 

In early pagan times Pan was the god of the woods 
and fields and the particular patron of shepherds. As 
the name signifies all, he came to be regarded in later 
times a symbol of the universe and a personification of 
Nature. Finally Pan became a representative of all 
the Greek gods, and of paganism itself. It is in this 
last character that we must think of him when we read 
Mrs. Browning's poem. 

THE DEAD PAN. 

Mrs. Browning. 

Gods of Hellas, gods of Hellas, 
Can ye hsten in your silence ? 
Can your mystic voices tell us 
Where ye hide ? In floating islands, 
With a wind that evermore 
Keeps you out of sight of shore ? 
Pan, Pan is dead. 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 237 

In what revels are ye sunken, 

In old Ethiopia? 

Have the pygmies made you drunken 

Bathing in mandragora 

Your divine pale lips that shiver 

Like the lotus in the river? 

Pan, Pan is dead. 

Do ye sit there still in slumber, 
In gigantic Alpine rows ? 
The black poppies out of number 
Nodding, dripping from your brows 
To the red lees of your wine. 
And so kept alive and fine ? 

Pan, Pan is dead. 

Or lie crushed your stagnant corses 
Where the silver spheres roll on, 
Stung to life by centric forces 
Thrown like rays out from the sun? 
While the smoke of your old altars 
Is the shroud that round you welters ? 

Great Pan is dead. 

Gods of Hellas, gods of Hellas, 
Said the old Hellenic tongue ! 
Said the hero-oaths, as well as 
Poet's songs the sweetest sung, 
Have ye grown deaf in a day ? 
Can ye speak not yea or nay — 

Since Pan is dead? 

Do ye leave your rivers flowing 

All along, O Naiades, 

While your drenched locks dry slow in 



238 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

This cold feeble sun and breeze ? 
Not a word the Naiads say, 
Though the rivers run for aye, 

For Pan is dead. 

From the gloaming of the oak wood, 
O ye Dryads, could ye flee ? 
At the rushing thunderstroke, would 
No sob tremble through the tree ? — 
Not a word the Dryads say. 
Though the forests wave for aye. 

For Pan is dead. 

Have ye left the mountain places 
Oreads wild, for other tryst ? 
Shall we see no sudden faces 
Strike a glory through the mist ? 
Not a sound the silence thrills 
Of the everlasting hills. 

Pan, Pan is dead. 

O twelve gods of Plato's vision. 
Crowned to starry wanderings, — 
With your chariots in procession. 
And your silver clash of wings ! 
Very pale ye seem to rise. 
Ghosts of Grecian deities — 

Now, Pan is dead ! 

Jove, that right hand is unloaded 
Whence the thunder did prevail ; 
While in idiocy of godhead 
Thou art staring the stars pale ! 
And thine eagle, blind and old. 
Roughs his feathers in the cold. 

Pan, Pan is dead. 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 239 

Where, O Juno, is the glory 
Of thy regal look and tread ! 
Will they lay, forevermore, thee, 
On thy dim, straight golden bed? 
Will thy queendom all he hid 
Meekly under either Hd ? 

Pan, Pan is dead. 

Ha, Apollo ! Floats his golden 
Hair all mist-hke where he stands ; 
While the Muses hang enfolding 
Knee and foot with faint wild hands ? 
'Neath the clanging of thy bow, 
Niobe looked lost as thou ! 

Pan, Pan is dead. 

Shall the casque with its brown iron 
Pallas' broad blue eyes eclipse. 
And no hero take inspiring 
From the God-Greek of her lips ? 
'Neath her olive dost thou sit, 
Mars, the mighty, cursing it? 

Pan, Pan is dead. 

Bacchus, Bacchus ! on the panther 

He swoons, — bound with his own vines ! 

And his Maenads slowly saunter, 

Head aside, among the pines, 

While they murmur dreamingly, 

" Evohe — ah — evohe — ! " 

Ah, Pan is dead. 

Neptune Hes beside the trident, 
Dull and senseless as a stone ; 
And old Pluto deaf and silent 



240 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Is cast out into the sun. 
Ceres smileth stern thereat, 
" We all now are desolate — " 

Now Pan is dead. 

Aphrodite ! dead and driven 
As thy native foam thou art, 
With the cestus long done heaving 
On the white calm of thy heart ! 
Ai Adonis ! At that shriek 
Not a tear runs down her cheek — 
Pan, Pan is dead. 

And the Loves we used to know from 
One another, — huddled lie, 
Frore as taken in a snow-storm, 
Close beside her tenderly, — 
As if each had weakly tried 
Once to kiss her as he died. 

Pan, Pan is dead. 

What, and Hermes ! Time enthralleth 
All thy cunning, Hermes, thus, — 
And the ivy blindly crawleth 
Round thy brave caduceus ! 
Hast thou no new message for us. 
Full of thunder and Jove-glories ? 

Nay, Pan is dead. 

Crowned Cybele's great turret 
Rocks and crumbles on her head : 
Roar the lions of her chariot 
Towards the wilderness, unfed ; 
Scornful children are not mute, — 
*' Mother, mother, walk a-foot — 

Since Pan is dead ! " 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 241 

In the fiery-hearted centre 
Of the solemn universe, 
Ancient Vesta, — who could enter 
To consume thee with this curse ? 
Drop thy gray chin on thy knee, 
O thou palsied mystery ! 

For Pan is dead. 

Gods ! we vainly do adjure you, — 
Ye return nor voice nor sign : 
Not a votary could secure you 
Even a grave for your Divine ! 
Not a grave to show thereby. 
Here these gray old gods do lie ! 

Pan, Pan is dead. 

Even that Greece who took your wages. 

Calls the obolus outworn ; 

And the hoarse, deep-throated ages 

Laugh your godships unto scorn — 

And the Poets do disclaim you. 

Or grow colder if they name you — 

And Pan is dead. 

Gods bereaved, gods belated, 
With your purples rent asunder ! 
Gods discrowned and desecrated. 
Disinherited of thunder ! 
Now the goats may climb and crop 
The soft grass on Ida's top — 

Now Pan is dead. 

Calm, of old, the bark went onward, 
When a cry more loud than wind. 
Rose up, deepened, and swept sunward. 



242 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

From the piled dark behind : 
And the sun shrank and grew pale, 
Breathed against by the great wail — 
Pan, Pan is dead. 

And the rowers from the benches 
Fell, — each shuddering on his face — 
While departing influences 
Struck a cold back through the place : 
And the shadow of the ship 
Reeled along the passive deep — 

Pan, Pan is dead. 

And that dismal cry rose slowly, 
And sank slowly through the air ; 
Full of spirit's melancholy 
And eternity's despair ! 
And they heard the words it said — 
Pan is dead — Great Pan is dead — 
Pan, Pan is dead. 

*Twas the hour when One in Sion 
Hung for love's sake on the cross — 
When His brow was chill with dying, 
And His soul was faint with loss ; 
When His priestly blood dropped downward, 
And His kingly eyes looked throrieward — 
Then, Pan was dead. 

By the love He stood alone in. 
His sole Godhead stood complete : 
And the false gods fell down moaning. 
Each from off his golden seat — 
All the false gods with a cry 
Rendered up their deity — 

Pan, Pan was dead. 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 243 

Wailing wide across the islands, 
They rent vest-like their Divine ! 
And their darkness and a silence 
Quenched the Hght of every shrine, 
And Dodona's oak swung lonely 
Henceforth to the tempest only. 

Pan, Pan was dead. 

Pythia staggered, — feeling o'er her 

Her lost god's forsaken look ! 

Straight her eyeballs filmed with horror, 

And her crispy fillets shook — 

And her lips gasped through their foam. 

For a word that did not come. 

Pan, Pan was dead. 

O ye vain, false gods of Hellas, 
Ye are silent evermore ! 
And I dash down this old chalice. 
Whence libations ran of yore. 
See ! the wine crawls in the dust, 
Wormhke as your glories must ! 

Since Pan is dead. 

By your beauty, which confesses 
Some chief Beauty conquering you, — 
By our grand heroic guesses. 
Through your falsehood at the True, — 
We will weep not! earth shall roll 
Heir to each god's aureole — 

And Pan is dead. 

Earth outgrows the mythic fancies 
Sung beside her in her youth : 
And those debonaire romances 



244 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Sound but dull beside the truth. 
Phoebus' chariot-course is run ! 
Look up, poets, to the sun ! 

Pan, Pan is dead. 

Christ hath sent us down the angels ; 

And the whole earth and the skies 

Are illumed by altar candles 

Lit for blessed mysteries : 

And a Priest's Hand through creation 

Waveth calm and consecration — 

And Pan is dead. 

Truth is fair ; should we forego it ? 
Can we sigh right for a wrong? 
God Himself is the best Poet, 
And the Real is His song. 
Sing His Truth out fair and full, 
And secure His beautiful. 

Let Pan be dead. 

Truth is large. Our aspiration 
Scarce embraces half we be. 
Shame ! to stand in His creation 
And doubt Truth's sufficiency ! 
To think God's song unexcelling 
The poor tales of our own telling — 

When Pan is dead. 

What is true and just and honest, 
What is lovely, what is pure — 
All of praise that hath admonish'd 
All of virtue shall endure, — 
These are themes for poets' uses, 
Stirring nobler than the Muses, 

Ere Pan was dead. 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 1\S 

O brave poets, keep back nothing ; 
Nor mix falsehood with the whole ! 
Look up Godward ! speak the truth in 
Worthy song from earnest soul ! 
Hold, in high poetic duty. 
Truest Truth the fairest Beauty ! 

Pan, Pan is dead. 



MESSIAH, 

Alexander Pope. 

Ye nymphs of Solyma ! begin the song : 

To heavenly themes subUmer strains belong. 

The mossy fountains, and the sylvan shades, 

The dreams of Pindus and Aonian maids. 

Delight no more, — O Thou my voice inspire 

Who touched Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire ! 

Rapt into future times, the bard begun : 

A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son ! 

From Jesse's root behold a branch arise, 

Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the skies ; 

The ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move 

And on its top descends the mystic dove. 

Ye heavens ! from high the dewy nectar pour, 

And in soft silence shed the kindly shower ; 

The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid, 

From storms a shelter and from heat a shade. 

All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail ; 

Returning Justice hft aloft her scale ; 

Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend. 

And white-robed Innocence from heaven descend. 

Swift fly the years, and rise the expected morn ! 

O spring to light ! auspicious Babe, be born ! 

See, Nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring. 



246 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

With all the incense of the breathing spring : 

See lofty Lebanon his head advance, 

See nodding forests on the mountains dance ; 

See spicy clouds from lowly Sharon rise, 

And Carmel's flowery top perfumes the skies ! 

Hark ! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers ; 

Prepare the way ! a God, a God appears : 

A God, a God ! the vocal hills reply. 

The rocks proclaim the approaching Deity. 

Lo, earth receives him from the bending skies ! 

Sink down, ye mountains, and, ye valleys, rise ; 

With heads declined, ye cedars, homage pay ; 

Be smooth, ye rocks ; ye rapid floods, give way ; 

The Saviour comes ! by ancient bards foretold ! 

Hear Him, ye deaf, and all ye blind, behold ! 

He from thick films shall purge the visual ray, 

And on the sightless eyeball pour the day ; 

'Tis He the obstructed paths of sound shall clear. 

And bid new music charm the unfolding ear : 

The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego. 

And leap exulting like the bounding roe. 

No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear. 

From every face He wipes off every tear. 

In adamantine chains shall Death be bound. 

And Hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound. 

As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care, 

Seeks freshest pasture and the purest air, 

Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs. 

By day o'ersees them, and by night protects ; 

The tender lambs he raises in his arms. 

Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms : 

Thus shall mankind His guardian care engage. 

The promised Father of the future age. 

No more shall nation against nation rise. 

Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes, 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 247 

Nor fields with gleaming steel be covered o'er, 

The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more ; 

But useless lances into scythes shall bend, 

And the broad falchion in a plough-share end. 

Then palaces shall rise ; the joyful sun 

Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun ; 

Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield. 

And the same hand that sowed, shall reap the field. 

The swain, in barren deserts with surprise 

Sees lihes spring and sudden verdure rise ; 

And starts, amidst the thirsty wilds, to hear 

New falls of water murmuring in his ear. 

On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes, 

The green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods. 

Waste sandy valleys, once perplexed with thorn, 

The spiry fir and shapely box adorn ; 

To leafless shrubs the flowering palms succeed, 

And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed. 

The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant mead, 

And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead ; 

The steer and lion at one crib shall meet. 

And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet. 

The smiling infant in his hand shall take 

The crested basilisk and speckled snake, 

Pleased, the green lustre of the scales survey. 

And with their forked tongue shall innocently play. 

Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem, rise ! 

Exalt thy towering head, and lift thine eyes ! 

See, a long race thy spacious courts adorn ; 

See future sons, and daughters yet unborn, 

In crowding ranks on every side arise. 

Demanding Hfe, impatient for the skies ! 

See barbarous nations at thy gates attend. 

Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend ; 

See thy bright altars thronged with prostrate kings. 



248 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

And heaped with products of Sabean springs ! 

For thee Idume's spicy forests blow, 

And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow. 

See heaven its sparkhng portals wide display, 

And break upon thee in a flood of day. 

No more the rising sun shall gild the morn, 

Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn; 

But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays, 

One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze 

O'erflovv thy courts ; the Light Himself shall shine 

Revealed, and God's eternal day be thine ! 

The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay, 

Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away ; 

But fixed His word. His saving power remains ; 

Thy realm forever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns ! 

ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. 

Milton. 

I. 

This is the month, and this the happy morn 
Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King 
Of wedded maid and virgin mother born. 
Our great redemption from above did bring — 
For so the holy sages once did sing — 
That He our deadly forfeit should release. 
And with His Father work us a perpetual peace. 

II. 

That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable. 
And that far-beaming blaze of majesty. 
Wherewith He wont at heav'n's high council-table 
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, 
He laid aside ; and here with us to be, 




The night that erst no name had worn 

To It a happy name is given; 

For in that stable lay, new-horn. 

The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven. 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 249 

Forsook the courts of everlasting day, 

And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. 

III. 
Say, heav'nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein 
Afford a present to the Infant God ? 
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, 
To welcome Him to this His new abode. 
Now while the heaven by the sun's team untrod 
Hath took no print of the approaching light, 
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright ? 

IV. 

See how from far upon the eastern road 

The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet : 

Oh ! run prevent them with thy humble ode, 

And lay it lowly at his blessed feet ; 

Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet. 

And join thy voice unto the Angel quire. 

From out His secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire. 

THE HYMN. 



It was the winter wild. 
While the heav'n-born child 

All meanly wrapt in a rude manger lies ; 
Nature, in awe to him. 
Had doffed her gaudy trim. 

With her great Master so to sympathize : 
It was no season then for her 
To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. 

II. 

Only with speeches fair 
She woos the gentle air 



250 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, 
And on her naked shame 
Pollute with sinful blame 

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw \ 
Confounded that her Maker's eyes 
Should look so near upon her foul deformities. 

III. 
But He her fears to cease, 
Sent down the meek-eyed Peace ; 

She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding 
Down through the turning sphere, 
-His ready harbinger, 

With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ; 
And waving wide her myrtle wand. 
She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. 

IV. 

Nor war, nor battle's sound 
Was heard the world around : 

The idle spear and shield were high up hung ; 
The hooked chariot stood 
Unstain'd with hostile blood : 

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; 
And kings sat still with awful eye. 
As if they surely knew their sov'reign Lord was by. 

V. 

But peaceful was the night. 
Wherein the Prince of light 

His reign of peace upon the earth began : 
The winds with wonder whist 
Smoothly the waters kist, 

Whisp'ring new joys to the mild ocean. 
Who now hath quite forgot to rave. 
While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 251 
VI. 

The stars with deep amaze 
Stand fix'd with steadfast gaze, 

Bending one way their precious influence, 
And will not take their flight. 
For all the morning light 

Of Lucifer that often warn'd them thence ; 
But in their glimmering orbs did glow, 
Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. 

VII. 

And though the shady gloom 
Had given day her room. 

The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, 
And hid his head for shame, 
As his inferior flame 

The new enlighten'd world no more should need ; 
He saw a greater sun appear 
Than his bright throne, or burning axle-tree could bear. 

VIII. 

The shepherds on the lawn, 
Or ere the point of dawn. 

Sat simply chatting in a rustic row ; 
Full httle thought they then 
That the mighty Pan 

Was kindly come to live with them below ; 
Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, 
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. 

IX. 

When such music sweet 

Their hearts and ears did greet, 

As never was by mortal finger strook ; 
Divinely-warbled voice 



252 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Answering the stringed noise, 

As all their souls in blissful rapture took ; 
The air such pleasure loath to lose, 
With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. 

X. 

Nature that heard such sound, 
Beneath the hollow round 

Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling. 
Now was almost won 
To think her part was done, 

And that her reign had here its last fulfilling ; 
She knew such harmony alone 
Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union. 

XI. 

At last surrounds their sight 
A globe of circular light, 

That with long beams the shamefac'd night array'd ; 
The helmed Cherubim, 
The sworded Seraphim, 

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, 
Harping in loud and solemn quire. 
With unexpressive notes to Heaven's new-born Heir. 

XII. 

Such music (as 'tis said) 
Before was never made, 

But when of old the sons of morning sung. 
While the Creator great 
His constellations set, 

And the well-balanc'd world on hinges hung ; 
And cast the dark foundations deep. 
And bid the welt'ring waves their oozy channel keep. 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 253 

XIII. 

Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! 
Once bless our human ears, 

If ye have pow'r to touch our senses so ; 
And let your silver chime 
Move in melodious time. 

And let the bass of heav'n's deep organ blow ; 
And with your ninefold harmony 
Make up full consort to th' angeUc symphony, 

XIV. 

For if such holy song 
Inwrap our fancy long. 

Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold ; 
And speckled Vanity 
Will sicken soon and die. 

And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould ; 
And hell itself will pass away. 
And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. 

XV. 

Yea, Truth and Justice then 
Will down return to men, 

Orb'd in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing, 
Mercy will sit between, 
Thron'd in celestial sheen, 

With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering : 
And heav'n, as at some festival. 
Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. 

XVI. 

But wisest Fate says, no. 
This must not yet be so ; 

The babe yet Hes in smiling infancy. 



254 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE, 

That on the bitter cross 
Must redeem our loss ; 

So both Himself and us to glorify ; 
Yet first to those ychained in sleep, 
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep, 

XVII. 

With such a horrid clang 
As on Mount Sinai rang, 

While the red fire and smouldering clouds out-brake : 
The aged earth aghast. 
With terror of that blast. 

Shall from the surface to the centre shake ; 
When at the world's last session. 
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. 

XVIII. 

And then at last our bhss 
Full and perfect is, 

But now begins ; for from this happy day 
The old Dragon underground 
In straiter Hmits bound, 

Not half so far casts his usurped sway. 
And wroth to see his kingdom fail. 
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. 

XIX. 

The oracles are dumb. 
No voice or hideous hum 

Runs thro' the arched roof in words deceiving ; 
Apollo from his shrine 
Can no more divine. 

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving ; 
No nightly trance or breathed spell 
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. 



FAGANISAI OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 255 



XX. 

The lonely mountains o'er, 
And the resounding shore, 

A /oice of weeping heard and loud lament; 
From haunted spring, and dale 
Edged with poplar pale, 

The parting genius is with sighing sent ; 
With flower-inwoven tresses torn 
The nymphs in twihght shade of tangled thickets mourn. 

XXI. 

In consecrated earth, 
And on the holy hearth. 

The lars, and lemures moan with midnight plaint; 
In urns and altars round, 
A drear and dying sound 

Affrights the flamens at their service quaint. 
And the chill marble seems to sweat, 
While each peculiar pow'r foregoes his wonted seat. 

XXII. 

Peor and Baalim 

Forsake their temples dim, 

With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine ; 
And mooned Ashtaroth, 
Heaven's queen and mother both. 

Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; 
The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn. 
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. 

XXIII. 

And sullen Moloch fled, 
Hath left in shadows dread 

His burning idol all of blackest hue ; 



256 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

In vain with cymbals' ring 
They call the grisly king, 

In dismal dance about the furnace blue ; 
The brutish gods of Nile as fast — 
Isis and Orus, and the dog Anubis-haste. 

XXIV. 

Nor is Osiris seen 

In Memphian grove or green, 

Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud : 
Nor can he be at rest 
Within his sacred chest ; 

Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud ; 
In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark 
The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipp'd ark. 

XXV. 

He feels from Juda's land 
The dreaded Infant's hand — 

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ; 
Nor all the gods beside 
Longer dare abide — 

Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : 
Our babe, to show His Godhead true, 
Can in His swaddling bands control the damned crew. 

XXVI. 

So, when the sun in bed, 
Curtain'd with cloudy red, 

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, 
The flocking shadows pale 
Troop to th' infernal jail — 

Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave ; 
And the yellow-skirted fays 
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd maze. 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 257 

XXVII. 

But see, the Virgin blest 
Hath laid her babe to rest. 

Time, is our tedious song, should here have ending ; 
Heaven's youngest teemed star 
Hath fix'd her polish'd car. 

Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending ; 
And all about the courtly stable 
Bright-harness'd angels sit in order serviceable. 



THE RESURRECTION. 

Our v^ord Easter, by which v^e designate the day 
of our Lord's resurrection, is of Anglo-Saxon origin. 
Originally it signified a goddess of light or spring, in 
honor of v^hom a festival was celebrated in April. 
The German spelling, Ostera, is used by the author of 
'' Easter Morning." 

EASTER MORNING. 

Mrs. Frances L. Mace. 
(From Harper'' s Magazine. Copyright, 1878, by Harper and Brothers.) 



Ostera, spirit of spring-time. 

Awake from thy slumbers deep ! 

Arise ! and with hands that are glowing 

Put off the white garments of sleep. 

Make thyself fair, O goddess ! 

In new and resplendent array, 

For the footsteps of Him who has risen 

Shall be heard in the dawn of the day. 



258 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Flushes the traihng arbutus 

Low under the forest leaves — 

A sign that the drowsy goddess 

The breath of her Lord perceives. 

While He suffered, her pulse beat numbly ; 

While He slept, she was still with pain ; 

But now He awakes — He has risen — 

Her beauty shall bloom again. 

O hark ! in the budding woodlands, 

Now far, now near, is heard 

The first prelusive warble 

Of rivulet and of bird. 

O listen ! the jubilate 

From every bough is poured, 

And earth in the smile of spring-time 

Arises to greet her Lord ! 

II. 

Radiant goddess Aurora ! 

Open the chambers of dawn ; 

Let the Hours hke a garland of graces 

Enrich the chariot of morn. 

Thou dost herald no longer Apollo, 

The god of the sunbeam and lyre ; 

The pride of his empire is ended, 

And pale is his armor of fire. 

From a loftier height than Olympus 
Light flows, from the Temple above. 
And the mists of old legends are scattered 
In the dawn of the Kingdom of Love. 
Come forth from the cloud-land of fable, 
For day in full splendor make room — 
For a triumph that lost not its glory 
As it paused in the sepulchre's gloom. 




• • . . . the long watches are over. 
The stone from the grave rolled away. 

• We shall rise ! ' is the song of to-day. ' ' 



PAGANISM OVERTHROWN BY CHRISTIANITY. 259 

She comes ! the bright goddess of morning, 

In crimson and purple array ; 

Far down on the hill-tops she tosses 

The first golden lilies of day. 

On the mountains her sandals are glowing, 

O'er the valleys she speeds on the wing, 

Till the earth is all rosy and radiant 

For the feet of the new-risen King. 

III. 

Open the gates of the Temple, 

Spread branches of palm and of bay ; 

Let not the spirits of nature 

Alone deck the Conqueror's way. 

While Spring from her death-sleep arises 

And joyous His presence awaits, 

While Morning's smile lights up the heavens. 

Open the Beautiful Gates ! 

He is here ! the long watches are over, 

The stone from the grave rolled away ; 

"We shall sleep ! " was the sigh of the midnight ; 

"We shall rise ! " is the song of to-day. 

O Music ! no longer lamenting, 

On pinions of tremulous flame 

Go soaring to meet the Beloved 

And swell the new song of His fame ! 

The altar is snowy with blossoms. 
The font is a vase of perfume, 
On pillar and chancel are twining 
Fresh garlands of eloquent bloom. 
Christ is risen ! with glad lips we utter, 
And far up the infinite height 
Archangels the paean re-echo. 
And crown Him with Lilies of Light ! 



GROUP VIII. 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 



Among the purely English legends that constantly 
meet us in our literature, those of the Celtic King 
Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table are of 
permanent interest. We have chosen from Tennyson's 
"Idylls of the King" the one of the legends that 
appeals to us most strongly as Christians, '' The Holy 
Grail." The student should read James Russell Low- 
ell's ''Vision of Sir Launfal" for comparison. We 
give Tennyson's " Sir Galahad," another version of 
the same story, first published in 1842, and his " Morte 
d'Arthur," which appeared in the same volume, to show 
the fascination these stories must have had for him 
from, his very youth, and also that the student may com- 
pare these early fruits of his genius with those of later 
growth ; for it was thirty years after the publication of 
these two poems before the completion of the "Idylls." 

" Morte d'Arthur," as given here, will be found under 
another title, "The Passing of Arthur," in the "Idylls." 

The student should compare the monologue of "Sir 
Galahad " with the form of the later poem, " The Holy 

260 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 261 

Grail," and endeavor to find the merits of each ; also to 
decide which is the more impressive. 

SIR GALAHAD. 

Tennyson. 

My good blade carves the casques of men, 

My tough lance thrusteth sure, 
My strength is as the strength of ten, • 

Because my heart is pure. 
The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, 

The hard brands shiver on the steel, 
The sphnter'd spear-shafts crack and fly, 

And horse and rider reel : 
They reel, they roll in clanging lists, 

And when the tide of combat stands, 
Perfume and flowers fall in showers 

That lightly rain from ladies' hands. 

How sweet are looks that ladies bend 

On whom their favors fall ! 
For them I battle till the end. 

To save from shame and thrall : 
But all my heart is drawn above. 

My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine : 
I never felt the kiss of love. 

Nor maiden's hand in mine. 
More bounteous aspects on me beam. 

Me mightier transports move and thrill ; 
So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer 

A virgin heart in work and will. 

When down the stormy crescent goes, 

A light before me swims. 
Between dark stems the forest glows, 

I hear a noise of hymns : 



262 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Then by some secret shrine I ride ; 

I hear a voice, but none are there ; 
The stalls are void, the doors are wide, 

The tapers burning fair. 
Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, 

The silver vessels sparkle clean. 
The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, 

And solemn chants resound between. 

Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres 

I find a magic bark ; 
I leap on board : no helmsman steers : 

I float till all is dark. 
A gentle sound, an awful light ! 

Three angels bear the holy Grail, 
With folded feet, in stoles of white. 

On sleeping wings they sail. 
Ah, blessed vision ! blood of God ! 

My spirit beats her mortal bars. 
As down dark tides the glory slides, 

And star-like mingles with the stars. 

When on my goodly charger borne 

Thro' dreaming towns I go. 
The cock crows ere the Christmas morn. 

The streets are dumb with snow. 
The tempest crackles on the leads,^ 

And, ringing, springs from brand and mail ; 
But o'er the dark a glory spreads. 

And gilds the driving hail. 
I leave the plain, Tclimb the height; 

No branchy thicket shelter yields ; 
But blessed forms in whistling storms 

Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. 

^ Leads : roofs covered with lead. 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 263 

A maiden knight — to me is given 

Such hope, I know not fear ; 
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven 

That often meet me here. 
I muse on joy that will not cease, 

Pure spaces clothed in living beams, 
Pure lihes of eternal peace 

Whose odors haunt my dreams ; 
And, stricken by an angel's hand. 

This mortal armor that I wear. 
This weight and size, this heart and eyes, 

Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air. 

The clouds are broken in the sky. 

And thro' the mountain walls 
A rolling organ-harmony 

Swells up, and shakes and falls. 
Then move the trees, the copses nod, 

Wings flutter, voices hover clear : 
" O just and faithful knight of God ! 

Ride on ! the prize is near." 
So pass I hostel, hall, and grange ; 

By bridge and ford, by park and pale. 
All arm'd I ride, what'er betide, 

Until I find the holy Grail. 

THE HOLY GRAIL. 

Tennyson's " Idylls of the King." 

From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done 
In tournament or tilt. Sir Percivale, 
Whom Arthur and his knighthood called the Pure, 
Had passed into the silent hfe of prayer. 
Praise, fast, and alms ; and leaving for the cowl 
The helmet, in an abbey far away 



264 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

From Camelot, there, and not long after, died. 
And one, a fellow- monk among the rest, 
Ambrosius, loved him much beyond the rest, 
And honored him, and wrought into his heart 
A way by love that wakened love within, 
To answer that which came : and as they sat 
Beneath a world-old yew-tree darkening half 
The cloisters, on a gustful April morn 
That puff'd the swaying branches into smoke. 
Above them, ere the summer when he died, 
The monk Ambrosius questioned Percivale : 

" O brother, I have seen this yew-tree smoke 
Spring after spring for half a hundred years : 
For never have I known the world without, 
Nor ever strayed beyond the pale : but thee, 
When first thou camest — such a courtesy 
Spake thro' the limbs and in the voice — I knew 
For one of those who eat in Arthur's hall ; 
For good ye are and bad, and like to coins. 
Some true, some light, but every one of you 
Stamp'd with the image of the King ; and now 
Tell me, what drove thee from the Table Round, 
My brother? was it earthly passion crost?" 

" Nay," said the knight ; " for no such passion mine. 

But the sweet vision of the Holy Grail 

Drove me from all vainglories, rivalries, 

And earthly heats that spring and sparkle out 

Among us in the jousts, while women watch 

Who wins, who falls ; and waste the spiritual strength 

Within us, better offered up to Heaven." 

To whom the monk : " The Holy Grail ! I trust 
We are green in Heaven's eyes ; but here too much 
We moulder — as to things without I mean — 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 265 

Yet one of your own knights, a guest of ours, 

Told us of this in our refectory ; 

But spake with such a sadness and so low 

We heard not half of what he said. What is it? 

The phantom of a cup that comes and goes? " 

"Nay, Monk ! what phantom?" answer'd Percivale. 

" The cup, the cup itself, from which our Lord 

Drank at the last sad supper with his own. 

This, from the blessed land of Aromat — 

After the day of darkness, when the dead 

Went wandering o'er Moriah — the good saint 

Arimathsean Joseph, journeying brought 

To Glastonbury, where the winter thorn 

Blossoms at Christmas, mindful of our Lord. 

And there awhile it bode ; and if a man 

Could touch or see it, he was heal'd at once, 

By faith, of all his ills. But then the times 

Grew to such evil that the holy cup 

Was caught away to Heaven, and disappeared." 

To whom the monk : " From our old books I know 

That Joseph came of old to Glastonbury, 

And there the heathen Prince, Arviragus, 

Gave him an isle of marsh whereon to build ; 

And there he built with wattles from the marsh 

A little lonely church in days of yore. 

For so they say, these books of ours, but seem 

Mute of this miracle, far as I have read. 

But who first saw the holy thing to-day? " 

"A woman," answer'd Percivale, " a nun, 
And one no further off in blood from me 
Than sister ; and if ever holy maid 
With knees of adoration wore the stone, 
A holy maid ; tho' never maiden glowed, 



266 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE, 

But that was in her earher maidenhood, 
With such a fervent flame of human love, 
Which being rudely blunted, glanced and shot 
Only to holy things ; to prayer and praise 
She gave herself, to fast and alms. And yet, 
Nun as she was, the scandal of the Court, 
Sin against Arthur and the Table Round, 
Across the iron grating of her cell 
Beat, and she pray'd and fasted all the more. 

" And he to whom she told her sins, or what 

Her all but utter whiteness held for sin, 

A man well-nigh a hundred winters old, 

Spake often with her of the Holy Grail, 

A legend handed down thro' five or six. 

And each of these a hundred winters old. 

From our Lord's time. And when King Arthur made 

His Table Round, and all men's hearts became 

Clean for a season, surely he had thought 

That now the Holy Grail would come again ; 

But sin broke out. Ah, Christ, that it would come 

And heal the world of all their wickedness ! 

* O Father ! ' asked the maiden, ' might it come 

To me by prayer and fasting ? ' ^ Nay,' said he, 

' I know not, for thy heart is pure as snow.' 

And so she pray'd and fasted till the sun 

Shone, and the wind blew thro' her and I thought 

She might have risen and floated when I saw her. 

" For on a day she sent to speak with me. 
And when she came to speak, behold her eyes. 
Beyond my knowing of them, beautiful 
Beyond all knowing of them, wonderful. 
Beautiful in the hght of holiness. 
And ' O my brother, Percivale,' she said. 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 267 

* Sweet brother, I have seen the Holy Grail : 

For, waked at dead of night, I heard a sound 

As of a silver horn from o'er the hills 

Blown, and I thought, " It is not Arthur's use 

To hunt by moonhght ; " and the slender sound 

As from a distance beyond distance grew 

Coming upon me — never harp nor horn 

Nor aught we blow with breath, or touch with hand, 

Was like that music as it came ; and then 

Stream'd thro' my cell a cold and silver beam, 

And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail, 

Rose-red with beatings in it, as if alive. 

Till all the white walls of my cell were dyed 

With rosy colors leaping on the wall ; 

And then the music faded, and the Grail pass'd, 

And the beam decay'd, and from the walls 

The rosy quiverings died into the night. 

And now the Holy Thing is here again 

Among us, brother, fast thou, too, and pray. 

And tell thy brother knights to fast and pray, 

That so perchance the vision may be seen 

By thee and those, and all the world be heal'd.' 

" Then leaving the pale nun, I spake of this 

To all men ; and myself fasted and prayed 

Always, and many among us many a week 

Fasted and pray'd even to the uttermost. 

Expectant of the wonder that would be. 

And one there was among us, ever moved 

Among us in white armor, Galahad. 

' God made thee good as thou art beautiful,' 

Said Arthur, when he dubbed him knight ; and none, 

In so young youth, was ever made a knight 

Till Galahad; and this Galahad, when he heard 

My sister's vision, fill'd me with amaze ; 



268 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

His eyes became so like her own, they seem'd 
Hers, and himself her brother more than I. 



" But she, the wan sweet maiden shore away 

Clean from her forehead all that wealth of hair 

Which made a silken mat-work for her feet ; 

And out of this she plaited broad and long 

A strong sword-belt, and wove with silver thread 

And crimson in the belt a strange device, 

A crimson grail within a silver beam ; 

And saw the bright boy-knight, and bound it on him, 

Saying, ' My knight, my love, my knight of heaven, 

O thou, my love, whose love is one with mine, 

I, maiden, round thee, maiden, bind my belt. 

Go forth, for thou shalt see what I have seen, 

And break thro' all, till one will crown thee king 

Far in the spiritual city ' : and as she spake 

She sent the deathless passion in her eyes 

Thro' him, and made him hers, and laid her mind 

On him, and he believed in her belief. 

" Then came a year of miracle : O brother, 
In our great hall there stood a vacant chair, 
Fashioned by Merlin ere he past away. 
And carven with strange figures ; and in and out 
The figures, like a serpent, ran a scroll 
Of letters in a tongue no man could read. 
And MerHn called it 'The Siege perilous,' 
Perilous for good and ill ; ' for there,' he said, 
' No man could sit but he should lose himself : 
And once by misadvertence Merlin sat 
In his own chair, and so was lost ; but he, 
Galahad, when he heard of Merlin's doom. 
Cried, ' If I lose myself I save myself ! ' 




■Ayjd down the long beam stole ihe Holy Grail 
All over covered with a luminous cloud/' 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 269 

" Then on a summer night it came to pass, 
While the great banquet lay along the hall, 
That Galahad would sit down in Merlin's chair. 
And all at once, as there we sat, we heard 
A cracking and a riving of the roofs. 
And rending, and a blast, and overhead 
Thunder, and in the thunder was a cry. 
And in the blast there smote along the hall 
A beam of light seven times more clear than day : 
And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail 
All over cover'd with a luminous cloud. 
And none might see who bare it, and it past. 
But every knight beheld his fellow's face 
As in a glory, and all the knights arose. 
And staring each at other like dumb men 
Stood, till I found a voice and sware a vow. 

" I sware a vow before them all, that I, 

Because I had not seen the Grail, would ride 

A twelvemonth and a day in quest of it, 

Until I found and saw it, as the nun 

My sister saw it ; and Galahad sware the vow. 

And good Sir Bors, our Launcelot's cousin, sware 

And Launcelot sware, and many among the knights. 

And Gawain sware, and louder than the rest." 

Then spake the monk Ambrosius, asking him 

" What said the King? Did Arthur take the vow? " 

" Nay, for my lord, the King," said Percivale, 
" Was not in hall : for early that same day, 
'Scaped thro' a cavern from a bandit hold, 
An outraged maiden sprang into the hall 
Crying on help : for all her shining hair 
Was smear'd wiih eartn, and either milky arm 



270 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Red-rent with hooks of bramble, and all she wore 
Torn as a sail that leaves the rope is torn 
In tempest : so the King arose and went 
To smoke the scandalous hive of those wild bees 
That made such honey in his realm. Howbeit 
Some little of this marvel he too saw, 
Returning o'er the plain that then began 
To darken under Camelot ; whence the King 
Look'd up, calling aloud, ' Lo there ! the roofs 
Of our great hall are roll'd in thunder-smoke ! 
Pray Heaven they be not smitten by the bolt.' 
For dear to Arthur was that hall of ours, 
As hatving there so oft with all his knights 
Feasted, and as the stateliest under heaven. 

" O brother, had you known our mighty hall. 
Which Merlin built for Arthur long ago ! 
For all the sacred mount of Camelot, 
And all the dim rich city, roof by roof. 
Tower after tower, spire beyond spire, 
By grove and garden-lawn, and rushing brook. 
Climbs to the mighty hall that Merlin built. 
And four great zones of sculpture, set betwixt 
With many a mystic symbol, gird the hall : 
And in the lowest beasts are slaying men. 
And in the second men are slaying beasts, 
And on the third are warriors, perfect men, 
And on the fourth are men with growing wings. 
And over all one statue in the mould 
Of Arthur, made by Merlin, with a crown, 
And peak'd wings pointed to the Northern Star. 
And eastward fronts the statue, and the crown 
And both the wings are made of gold, and flame 
At sunrise till the people in far fields, 
Wasted so often by the heathen hordes. 
Behold it, crying, ' We have still a King.' 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 271 

'' And, brother, had you known our hall within, 
Broader and higher than any in all the lands ! 
Where twelve great windows blazon Arthur's wars. 
And all the light that falls upon the board 
Streams thro' the twelve great battles of our King. 
Nay, one there is, and at the eastern end, 
Wealthy with wandering lines of mount and mere. 
Where Arthur finds the brand, Excalibur. 
And also one to the west, and counter to it, 
And blank : and who shall blazon it? when and how? — 
O there, perchance, when all our wars are done. 
The brand Excalibur will be cast away. 

" So to this hall full quickly rode the King, 

In horror lest the work by Merlin wrought, 

Dreamlike, should on the sudden vanish, wrapt 

In unremorseful folds of rolling fire. 

And in he rode, and up I glanced, and saw 

The golden dragon sparkling over all : 

And many of those who burnt the hold, their arms 

Hack'd, and their foreheads grimed with smoke, and sear'd, 

Follow'd, and in among bright faces, ours, 

Full of the vision, prest : and then the King 

Spake to me, being nearest, '■ Percivale,' 

(Because the hall was all in tumult — some 

Vowing, and some protesting), 'what is this?' 

" O brother, when I told him what had chanced, 

My sister's vision, and the rest, his face 

Darken'd, as I have seen it more than once, 

When some brave deed seem'd to be done in vain. 

Darken ; and ' Woe is me, my knights,' he cried, 

* Had I been here ye had not sworn the vow.' 

Bold was mine answer, ' Had thyself been here. 

My King, thou wouldst have sworn.' 'Yea, yea,' said he, 

' Art thou so bold and hast not seen the Grail? ' 



272 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

" ' Nay, Lord, I heard the sound, I saw the Hght, 
But since I did not see the Holy Thing, 
I sware a vow to follow it till I saw.' 

" Then when he asked us, knight by knight, if any 
Had seen it, all their answers were as one : 
' Nay, Lord, and therefore have we sworn our vows.' 
' Lo, now,' said Arthur, ' have ye seen a cloud? 
What go ye into the wilderness to see ? ' 

" Then Galahad on a sudden, and in a voice 
Shrilling along the hall to Arthur, call'd, 
' But I, Sir Arthur, saw the Holy Grail, 
I saw the Holy Grail and heard a cry — 
O Galahad, and O Galahad, follow me.' 

" ^ Ah, Galahad, Galahad,' said the King, ' for such 

As thou art is the vision, not for these. 

The holy nun and thou have seen a sign — 

Holier is none, my Percivale, than she — 

A sign to maim this Order which I made. 

But you, that follow but the leader's bell ' 

(Brother, the King was hard upon his knights) 

' Taliessin is our fullest throat of song, 

And one hath sung and all the dumb will sing. 

Launcelot is Launcelot, and hath overborne 

Five knights at once, and every younger knight 

Unproven, holds himself as Launcelot, 

Till overborne by one he learns — and ye. 

What are ye ? Galahads ? — no, nor Percivales ' 

(For thus it pleased the King to range me close 

After Sir Galahad) ; ' nay,' said he, '■ but men 

With strength and will to right the wronged of power. 

To lay the sudden heads of violence flat, 

Knights that in twelve great battles splash'd and dyed 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. . 273 

The strong White Horse in his own heathen blood - — 
But one hath seen, and all the bhnd will see. 
Go, since your vows are sacred, being made : 
Yet — for ye know the cries of all my realm 
Pass thro' this hall — how often, O my knights. 
Your places being vacant at my side. 
This chance of noble deeds will come and go 
Unchallenged, while you follow wandering fires 
Lost in the quagmire ! Many of you, yea most, 
Return no more : yet think I show myself 
Too dark a prophet : come now, let us meet 
The morrow morn once more in one full field 
Of gracious pastime, that once more the King, 
Before ye leave him for this Quest may count 
The yet unbroken strength of all his knights. 
Rejoicing in that Order which he made.' 

" So when the sun broke next from under ground, 

All the great table of our Arthur closed 

And clash'd in such a tourney and so full. 

So many lances broken — never yet 

Had Camelot seen the hke, since Arthur came. 

And I myself and Galahad, for a strength 

Was in us from the vision, overthrew 

So many knights that all the people cried. 

And almost burst the barriers in their heat. 

Shouting, ' Sir Galahad and Sir Percivale ! ' 

*' But when the next day brake from under ground — 

O brother, had you known our Camelot, 

Built by old kings, age after age, so old 

The King himself had fears that it would fall. 

So strange, and rich, and dim ; for where the roofs 

Totter'd toward each other in the sky, 

Met foreheads all along the street of those 



274 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Who vvatch'd us pass ; and lower, and where the long 
Rich galleries, lady-laden, weigh'd the necks 
Of dragons clinging to the crazy walls, 
Thicker than drops from thunder, showers of flowers 
Fell as we past : and men and boys astride 
On wyvern, Hon, dragon, griffin, swan, 
At all the corners, named us each by name, 
Calling ^ God speed ! ' but in the street below 
The knights and ladies wept, and rich and poor 
Wept, and the King himself could hardly speak for grief. 
********* 

And then we reached the weirdly-sculptured gate, 
Where Arthur's wars were render'd mystically, 
And thence departed every one his way. 

" And I was lifted up in heart, and thought 

Of all my late-shown prowess in the lists, 

How my strong lance had beaten down the knights, 

So many and famous names ; and never yet 

Had heaven appear'd so blue, nor earth so green, 

For all my blood danced in me, and I knew 

That I should light upon the Holy Grail. 

" Thereafter, the dark warning of our King, 

That most of us would follow wandering fires. 

Came like a driving gloom across my mind. 

Then every evil word I had spoken once. 

And every evil thought I had thought of old. 

And every evil deed I ever did, 

Awoke and cried, ' This Quest is not for thee.' 

And lifting up mine eyes, I found myself 

Alone, and in a land of sand and thorns. 

And I was thirsty even unto death ; 

And I, too, cried, 'This Quest is not for thee.' 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 275 

" And on I rode, and when I thought my thirst 

Would slay me, saw deep lawns, and then a brook 

With one sharp rapid, where the crisping white 

Play'd ever back upon the sloping wave, 

And took both ear and eye ; and o'er the brook 

Were apple-trees, and apples by the brook fallen, 

And on the lawns. '' I will rest here,* 

I said, ' I am not worthy of the Quest ' ; 

But even while I drank the brook, and ate 

The goodly apples, all these things at once 

Fell into dust, and I was left alone. 

And thirsting, in a land of sand and thorns. 

•" And on I rode, and greater was my thirst. 
Then flash'd a yellow gleam across the world. 
And where it smote the ploughshare in the field, 
The ploughman left his ploughing, and fell clown 
Before it ; where it glitter'd on her pail. 
The milkmaid left her milking, and fell down 
Before it, and I knew not why, but thought 
'The sun is rising,' tho' the sun had risen. 
Then was I ware of one that on me moved 
In golden armor with a crown of gold 
About a casque all jewels ; and his horse 
In golden armor jewell'd everywhere : 
And on the splendor came, flashing me bhnd ; 
And seem'd to me the Lord of all the world. 
Being so huge. But when I thought he meant 
To crush me, moving on me, lo ! he, too, 
Opened his arms to embrace me as he came. 
And up I went and touch'd him, and he, too. 
Fell into dust, and I was left alone 
And wearying in a land of sand and thorns. 

" And I rode on and found a mighty hill. 
And on the top a city wall'd : the spires 



276 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Prick'd with incredible pinnacles into heaven. 

And by the gateway stirr'd a crowd ; and these 

Cried to me climbing, ' Welcome, Percivale ! 

Thou mightiest and thou purest among men ! ' 

And glad was I and clomb, but found at top 

No man nor any voice. And thence I past 

Far thro' a ruinous city, and I saw 

That man had once dwelt there ; but there I found 

Only one man of an exceeding age. 

' Where is that goodly company,' said I, 

' That so cried out upon me? ' and he had 

Scarce any voice to answer, and yet gasp'd, 

' Whence and what art thou ? ' and even as he spoke 

Fell into dust and disappear'd, and I 

Was left alone once more, and cried in grief, 

' Lo, if I find the Holy Grail itself 

And touch it, it will crumble into dust.' 

" And thence I dropt into a lowly vale. 
Low as the hill was high, and where the vale 
Was lowest, found a chapel and thereby 
A holy hermit in a hermitage. 
To whom I told my phantoms, and he said : 

" '■ O son, thou hast not true humility. 

The highest virtue, mother of them all ; 

For when the Lord of all things made Himself 

Naked of glory for His mortal change, 

"Take thou my robe," she said, " for all is thine," 

And all her form shone forth with sudden light 

So that the angels were amazed, and she 

Folio w'd him down, and like a flying star 

Led on the gray-hair'd wisdom of the East ; 

But her thou hast not known : for what is this 

Thou thoughtest of thy prowess and thy sins ? 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 277 

Thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself 

As Galahad.' When the hermit made an end, 

In silver armor suddenly Galahad shone 

Before us, and against the chapel door 

Laid lance, and enter'd, and we knelt in prayer. 

And there the hermit slaked my burning thirst 

And at the sacring of the mass I saw 

The holy elements alone ; but he : 

* Saw ye no more ? I, Galahad, saw the Grail, 

The Holy Grail, descend upon the shrine : 

I saw the fiery face as of a child 

That smote itself into the bread, and went ; 

And hither am I come ; and never yet 

Hath what thy sister taught me first to see. 

This Holy Thing, fail'd from my side, nor come 

Cover'd, but moving with me night and day, 

Fainter by day, but always in the night 

Blood-red, and sliding down the blacken'd marsh 

Blood-red, and on the naked mountain top 

Blood-red, and in the sleeping mere below 

Blood-red. And in the strength of this I rode. 

Shattering all evil customs everywhere. 

And past thro' Pagan realms, and made them mine, 

And clash'd with Pagan hordes, and bore them down. 

And broke thro' all, and in the strength of this 

Come victor. But my time is hard at hand, 

And hence I go ; and one will crown me king 

Far in the spiritual city ; and come thou, too. 

For thou shalt see the vision when I go.' 

" While thus he spake, his eye, dwelling on mine, 
Drew me with power upon me, till I grew 
One with him, to believe as he believed. 
Then, when the day began to wane, we went. 



278 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

" There rose a hill that none but man could climb, 

Scarr'd with a hundred wintry water-courses — 

Storm at the top, and when we gain'd it, storm 

Round us and death ; for every moment glanced 

His silver arms and gloom'd : so quick and thick 

The lightnings here and there to left and right 

Struck ; till the dry old trunks about us, dead, 

Yea, rotten with a hundred years of death, 

Sprang into fire : and at the base we found 

On either hand, as far as eye could see, 

A great black swamp and of an evil smell, 

Part black, part whiten'd with the bones of men, 

Not to be crost, save that some ancient king 

Had built a way, where, Hnk'd with many a bridge, 

A thousand piers ran into the great sea. 

And Galahad fled along them bridge by bridge, 

And every bridge as quickly as he crost 

Sprang into fire : and vanish'd, tho' I yearn'd 

To follow ; and thrice above him all the heavens 

Open'd and blazed with thunder such as seem'd 

Shoutings of all the sons of God : and first 

At once I saw him far on the great sea. 

In silver-shining armor starry-clear ; 

And o'er his head the holy vessel hung 

Clothed in white samite or a luminous cloud. 

And with exceeding swiftness ran the boat, 

If boat it were — I saw not whence it came. 

And when the heavens open'd and blazed again 

Roaring, I saw him like a silver star — 

And had he set the sail, or had the boat 

Become a living creature clad with wings? 

And o'er his head the holy vessel hung 

Redder than any rose, a joy to me. 

For now I knew the veil had been withdrawn. 

Then in a moment, when they blazed again 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 279 

Opening, I saw the least of little stars 
Down on the waste, and straight beyond the star 
I saw the spiritual city and all her spires 
And gateways in a glory like one pearl — 
No larger, tho' the goal of all the saints — 
Strike from the sea ; and from the star there shot 
A rose-red sparkle to the city, and there 
Dwelt, and I knew it was the Holy Grail, 
Which never eyes on earth again shall see. 
Then fell the floods of heaven drowning the deep. 
And how my feet recross'd the deathful ridge 
No memory in me Hves ; but that I touch'd 
The chapel-doors at dawn, I know ; and thence 
Taking my war-horse from the holy man. 
Glad that no phantom vext me more, return'd 
To whence I came, the gate of Arthur's wars." 

MORTE D'ARTHUR. 

Tennyson. 

The poet represents this poem as a fragment of an 
Epic in twelve books, which the author burnt for " a 
mint of reasons." '' He thought that nothing new was 
said, or else 

" ^ Something so said 'twas nothing — that a truth 
Looks freshest in the fashion of the day.' " 

In answer to these reasons mentioned by his friend, 
the poet adds by way of excuse, — 

" Why take the style of those heroic times? 
For nature brings not back the Mastodon, 
Nor we those times ; and why should any man 
Remodel models? These twelve books of mine 



280 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Were faint Homeric echoes, nothing worth, 

Mere chaff and draff, much better burnt." 

" But I," said his friend, " picked the eleventh from this hearth, 

And have it : keep a thing, its use will come." 

" Then at my request he brought it ; 

And the poet, little urged, 

But with some prelude of disparagement, 

Read, mouthing out his oes and aes, 

Deep-chested music, and to this result." 

• In Tennyson's early poems the following appears 
under the title given above ; in the " Idylls of the 
King" it is called the ''Passing of Arthur." 

THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 

So all day long the noise of battle rolled 

Among the mountains by the winter sea ; 

Until King Arthur's table, man by man, 

Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their Lord, 

King Arthur : then, because his wound was deep, 

The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. 

Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights, 

And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, 

A broken chancel with a broken cross. 

That stood on a dark strait of barren land. 

On one side lay the Ocean, and on one 

Lay a great water, and the moon was full. 

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : 
" The sequel of to-day unsolders all 
The goodliest fellowship of famous knights 
Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep 
They sleep — the men I loved. I think that we 
Shall never more, at any future time, 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 281 

Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds, 
Walking about the gardens and the halls/ 
Of Camelot, as in the days that were. 
I perish by this people which I made, — 
Though Merlin sware that I should come again 
To rule once more — but let what will be, be, 
I am so deeply smitten through the helm 
That without help, I cannot last till morn. 
Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, 
Which was my pride : for thou rememberest how 
In those old days, one summer noon, an arm 
Rose up from out the bosom of the lake. 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
Holding the sword — and how I rowed across 
And took it, and have worn it, like a king : 
And wheresoever I am sung or told 
In aftertime, this also shall be known : 
But now delay not : take Excalibur, 
And fling him far into the middle mere : 
Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word." 

To him repUed the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus. 
Aidless, alone, and smitten through the helm. 
A little thing may harm a wounded man. 
Yet I thy best will all perform at full. 
Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word." 

So saying, from the ruined shrine he stept 
And in the moon athwart the place of tombs, 
Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. 
Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang 
Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down 
By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock. 
Came on the shining levels of the lake. 

There he drew forth the brand Excahbur, 
And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon, 



282 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth 
And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt : 
For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks, 
Myriads of topaz-lights and jacinth work 
Of subtlest jewelry. He gazed so long 
That both his eyes were dazzled, as he stood 
This way and that dividing the swift mind. 
In act to throw ; but at the last it seemed 
Better to leave Excalibur concealed 
There in the many-knotted waterflags. 
That whistled stiif and dry about the marge. 
So strode he back slow to the wounded King. 

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : 
" Hast thou performed the mission which I, gave ? 
What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard? " 
And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" I heard the ripple washing in the reeds. 
And the wild water lapping on the crag." 
To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale : 
"Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name, 
Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd 
Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight : 
For surer sign had followed, either hand, 
Or voice, or else a motion of the mere. 
This is a shameful thing for men to lie. 
Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again 
As thou art hef and dear, and do the thing 
I bade thee, watch, and lightly bring me word." 
Then went Sir Bedivere the second time 
Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere. 
Counting the dewy pebbles, fix'd in thought ; 
But when he saw the wonder of the hilt. 
How curiously and strangely it was chased, he smote 
His palms together, and he cried aloud. 

" And if indeed I cast the brand away, 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 283 

Surely a precious thing, one worthy note, 

Should thus be lost forever from the earth, 

Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. 

What good should follow this, if this were done ? 

What harm undone ? deep harm to disobey, 

Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. 

Were it well to obey then if a king demand 

An act unprofitable, against himself ? 

The King is sick, and knows not what he does. 

What record, or what relic of my lord 

Should be to aftertime, but empty breath 

And rumors of a doubt ? but were this kept, 

Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings, 

Some one might show it at a joust of arms, 

Saying, ' King Arthur's sword, Excalibur, 

Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. 

Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps 

Upon the hidden bases of the hills.' 

So might some old man speak in the aftertime 

To air the people, winning reverence. 

But now much honor and much fame were lost." 

So spake he, clouded with his own conceit. 
And hid Excahbur the second time, 
And so strode back slow to the wounded King. 
Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily : 
" What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard? " 
And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" I heard the water lapping on the crag. 
And the long ripple washing in the reeds." 
To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath : 
" Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, 
Unknightly, traitor-hearted ! Woe is me ! 
Authority forgets a dying king. 
Laid widow'd of the power in his eye 
That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art, 



284 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

For thou, the latest-left of all my knights, 

In whom should meet the offices of all. 

Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt ; 

Either from lust of gold, or like a girl 

Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. 

Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice. 

And the third time may prosper, get thee hence : 

But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur, 

I will arise and slay thee with my hands." 

Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran, 
And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged 
Among the bulrush -beds, and clutched the sword, 
And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The great brand 
Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon. 
And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an arch. 
Shot hke a streamer of the northern morn. 
Seen where the moving isles of winter shock 
By night, with noises of the northern sea. 
So flash 'd and fell the brand Excahbur : 
But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
And caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him 
Three times, and drew him under in the mere. 
And lightly went the other to the King. 
Then spoke King Arthur, drawing quicker breath : 
" Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. 
Speak out : what is it thou hast heard or seen? " 
And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems 
Should blind my purpose, for I never saw. 
Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die, 
Not though riive three lives of mortal man. 
So great a miracle as yonder hilt. 
Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him ; 
But when I look'd again, behold an arm, 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 285 

Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
That caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him 
Three times, and drew him under in the mere." 

And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard : 
" My end draws nigh ; 'tis time that I were gone. 
Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight, • 
And bear me to the margin ; yet I fear 
My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die." 
So saying, from the pavement he half rose, 
Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm. 
And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes 
As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere 
Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears. 
And would have spoken, but he found not words, 
Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee, 
O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands, 
And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. 
But as he walked Sir Arthur panted hard, 
Like one that felt a nightmare on his bed 
When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the King, 
Muttering and murmuring at his ear, " Quick, quick ! 
I fear it is too late, and I shall die." 
But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge. 
Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk'd. 
Larger than human on the frozen hills. 
He heard the deep behind him and a cry 
Before. His own thoughts drove him like a goad. 
Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves 
And barren chasms, and all to left and right 
The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based 
His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang 
Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels — 
And on a sudden, lo ! the level lake, 
And the long glories of the winter moon. 

Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, 



286 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, 

Beneath them ; and descending they were ware 

That all the decks were dense with stately forms 

Black-stoled, black-hooded, hke a dream — by these 

Three Queens with crowns of gold — and from them rose 

A cry that shiver'd to the tingling stars, 

And, as it were one voice, an agony 

Of lamentation, like a wind, that shrills 

All night in a waste land, where no one comes, 

Or hath come since the making of the world. 

Then murmur'd Arthur, " Place me in the barge," 
And to the barge they came. There those three Queens 
Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept. 
But she, that rose the tallest of them all 
And fairest, laid his head upon her lap. 
And loosed the shatter'd casque and chafed his hands. 
And call'd him by his name, complaining loud. 
And dropping bitter tears against his brow 
Striped with dark blood : for all his face was white 
And colorless, and like the wither'd moon 
Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east ; 
And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops 
Of onset ; and the light and lustrous curls — 
That made his forehead like a rising sun 
High from the dais-throne — were parch 'd with dust ; 
Or clotted into points and hanging loose, 
Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. 
So like a shatter'd column lay the King ; 
Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest. 
From spur to plume a star of tournament, 
Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged 
Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. 

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere, 
"Ah ! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go? 
Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 287 

For now I see the true old times are dead, 

When every morning brought a noble chance, 

And every chance brought out a noble knight. 

Such times have been not since the hght that led 

The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. 

But now the whole round table is dissolved 

Which was an image of the mighty world ; 

And I, the last, go forth companionless 

And the days darken round me, and the years. 

Among new men, strange faces, other minds." 

And slowly answered Arthur from the barge : 
" The old order changeth, yielding place to new, 
And God fulfils himself in many ways. 
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 
Comfort thyself : what comfort is in me ? 
I have lived my life, and that which I have done 
May He within himself make pure ! but thou, 
If thou shouldst never see my face again. 
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer 
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice 
Rise like a fountain for me night and day. 
For what are men better than sheep or goats 
That nourish a blind life within the brain. 
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer 
Both for themselves and those who call them friend ? 
For so the whole round earth is every way 
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. 
But now farewell. I am going a long way 
With these thou seest — if indeed I go — 
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) 
To the island-valley of AviHon ; 
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow. 
Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies 
Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard-lawns 
And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, 



288 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN IITERATURE. 

Where I will heal me of my grievous wound." 
Sc said he, and the barge with oar and sail 
Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan 
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, 
Ruflles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood 
With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere 
Revolving many memories, till the hull 
Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn, 
And on the mere the wailing died away. 

Avilion. — Av'alon, in Middle-Age romance, is the name given to an 
ocean-island not far from the " terrestrial paradise." It is represented as 
the abode of King Arthur and his fairy sister, Morgan le Fay, and of 
Oberon, the king of the fairies, in mediseval mythology. 

In the following sonnet the writer indicates that to 
him, at least, the poetry of the Old Testament is of 
a higher order than even " Homer's verse," and that 
the other famous Greek and Latin authors have not 
the power of the " hallowed bards " of Judah. He 
could hardly have come to this conclusion without a 
thorough knowledge of both the Hebrew Scriptures 
and the ancient classics. That he had explored this 
wide field of literature his writings show conclusively, 
and that he was a traveller in Greece and Italy is 
evident from the fact that many of his poems were 
written under the direct inspiration of scenes and 
sights connected with pagan history and religion. 

A SONNET. 

Aubrey de Vere. 

Let those who will, hang rapturously o'er 
The flowing eloquence of Plato's page, — 



KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS. 289 

Repeat, with flashing eye, the sounds that pour 

From Homer's verse as with a torrent's rage ; 

Let those who Hst, ask TuUy to assuage 

Wild hearts with high-wrought periods, and restore 

The reign of rhetoric ; or maxims sage 

Winnow from Seneca's sententious lore. 

Not these, but Judah's hallowed bards, to me 

Are dear : Isaiah's noble energy ; 

The temperate grief of Job ; the artless strain 

Of Ruth and pastoral Amos ; the high songs 

Of David ; and the tale of Joseph's wrongs, 

Simply pathetic, eloquently plain. 

To study literature profitably we must learn that a 
few subjects constantly reappear on the pages of the 
poet, the dramatist, the novelist. Among these are the 
joys and sorrows of human life, the personal relations of 
humanity. History is human life on a larger scale, — 
not merely personal, though that is included in it, but 
national, — and so Life, Death, and the Hereafter have 
been the great themes upon which the thoughts of 
men have labored, and they have given expression to 
these thoughts in a few lasting forms that constitute 
the grandeur and the glory of every civilized land. 

What has man's desire to express his thoughts com- 
pelled him to do } To invent language and the materi- 
als necessary for preserving the spoken words in written 
forms. And what is the result } All nations have poets ; 
to carve his thoughts in stone, — sculptors ; to paint his 
thoughts on canvas, — artists ; to build his thoughts 
into architectural forms, — cathedral builders ; to invent 
musical instruments and a musical notation, — organ- 
u 



290 FOUNDATION STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 

ists ; "to speak with the tongues of angels," — orators. 
And the highest thought ever expressed in any of these 
forms — what is it but the worship of God ? of Him 
who created us, redeemed us, sanctified us ? 

Man is a worshipping creature and he must fulfil 
the end for which he was created. The highest form 
of literature produced by any nation is the embodiment 
of its religion. Homer's writings, the Hebrew Script- 
ures, and the New Testament must, therefore, hold the 
foremost rank as literary models, the first embodying 
the religion of the Greeks, the second that of the Jews, 
and the third that of Christendom. 

The farther we carry our studies in literature the 
more we shall be convinced 

" How little inventiveness there is in man. 
Grave copier of copies — " ^ 

But this very discovery is one of the best means of 
teaching us to discriminate between good literature and 
bad ; between the great books and the little ones ; 
between high art, low art, and no art, in writing; be- 
tween the ideal and the real. 

1 James Russell Lowell, "The Cathedral." 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



^SCHYLUS. Prometheus Bound (Plumptre's Trans.), 62. 

Anacreon. Cupid Stung, 183; The Cheat of Cupid, 187; Cupid Be- 
nighted, 188. 

Arnold, Sir Edwin. Cupid Stung (Trans, from Anacreon), 183. 

Backus, M. L. On Latmos, 38. 

Barr, Lillie E. a Legend of Ancient Greece, 23. 

Benedict, E. T. The Origin of the Sonnet, 225. 

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett. A Musical Instrument, 138; Cupid 
and Psyche (Paraphrases on Apuleius), 175; The Cyclops (Para- 
phrase on Theocritus), 192; How Bacchus finds Ariadne Sleeping 
(Paraphrase on Nonnus), 199; How Bacchus comforts Ariadne 
(Paraphrase on Nonnus), 202; The Dead Pan, 236. 

Bryant, William Cullen. From the Iliad, Book VIIL, 147, 

Byron, Lord. Prometheus, 83. 

Chaucer, Geoffrey. The Manciple's Tale, 25. 

Cowper, William. From the Iliad, Book VIII., 146. 

De Vere, Aubrey. A Sonnet, 288, 

DoMMETf, Alfred. A Christmas Hymn, 229. 

Euripides. Iphigenia in Aulis, 107. 

Goethe. Prometheus, 81; Iphigenia in Tauris, 114. 

Herrick, Robert. The Cheat of Cupid, 187. 

Hesiod. The Creation of Pandora, 88; Bacchus and Ariadne, 204. 

Hunt, Leigh. Cupid Swallowed, 190; The Dryads, 196. 

Holmes, Oliver Wendell. The First Fan, 226. 

Homer. A Hymn to Ceres, 45; From the Iliad, Book VIIL, 145. 

Ingelow, Jean. Persephone, 46. 

JoNSON, Ben. Hymn to Diana (from Cynthia's Revels), 35; Discourse 
with Cupid, 185. 

Keats, John, Saturn and Thea (from Hyperion), 56; A Sonnet on 
Chapman's Homer, 143. 

291 



292 INDEX OF AUTHORS, 

Landor, Walter Savage. Iphigenia, 112. 

Lily, John. Cupid and Campaspe, 186. 

Lowell, James Russell. Prometheus, 70; The Finding of the Lyre, 
140; From Rhoecus, 197. 

Longfellow, Henry W. Hymn to the Night, 12; Endymion, 33; En- 
celadus, 59. 

Milton, John. From L' Allegro, 134; From II Penseroso, 134; On the 
Morning of Christ's Nativity, 248. 

Mace, Frances L. The Seven Days, 216; Easter Morning, 257. 

Moore, Thomas. The Origin of the Harp, 141; Cupid and the Bee 
(from Anacreon), 184; Cupid Benighted (Translation), 188. 

Pope, Alexander, From the Iliad, Book VIIL, 145; Messiah, 245. 

Saxe, J. G. Phaethon, 29; Icarus, 91; Orpheus and Eurydice, 136. 

Schiller. The Gods of Greece, 231. 

Shelley, Percy Bysshe. To Night, 13; The Cloud, 41; Prometheus 
Unbound, 84. 

Shakespeare, William. Song from Henry VIIL, 135. 

Stedman, E. C. News from Olympia, 223. 

Stock, Eliot. Cupid's Decadence, 191. 

Tennyson, Alfred. Tithonus, 17; Demeter and Persephone, 50; GEnone, 
95; From the Ihad, Book VIIL, 146; The Lotos Eaters, 166; Choric 
Song, 167; Ulysses, 172; A Dream of Fair Women, 206; Sir Gala- 
had, 261; The Holy Grail, 263; Morte d' Arthur, 279. 

Wetherly, Frederick E. Sir Cupid, 190. 

Wordsworth, William. Laodameia, 128. 

Young, W. W. There came Three Queens from Heaven, 103. 

Young, Edward. From Night Thoughts, 11. 






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